Chosen of Darkness
by Virusgod
Summary: Sequel to Return of the High Elves. Voldemort has released an ancient evil. Can the Light hold on, or shall the world be consumed by Darkness?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter does not belong to me. If it did, I'd have a lot more money. Which would be nice. And then I could kill characters I didn't like off officially just to annoy certain people...

**Warning: **The rating of this fic is M, raised from the T of the previous one. There WILL be more violence, some of it described in graphic detail, and I don't want to risk anyone who shouldn't read that sort of thing reading it, nor do I want to get reported for having the wrong rating.

* * *

'_And spoke the skull, as wards were sealed, that death would come to thee and thine, for power festers in the dark, and fools forget when given time,"__ -_The Final Words of Darkness 

**Prologue: **

"Where?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes burning. "Where must I go? What must be done? Tell me!"

A hissing laugh echoed the room.

"I shall show you. Open your mind to me..."

Voldemort looked at the book somewhat apprehensively. It practically exuded a dark aura, that almost scared even him. To let it into his mind...but it would be worth it, oh yes- he thought. He would have his vengeance. They would all pay. He dropped his shields and placed his hand upon the book.

Pain lashed through his head as dark powers raped his mind, searching, finding, learning. He felt its poison touch everywhere, felt it wade through his plans of glory and pureblood supremacy without care, looking into his past.

"_You have been close, yes_." The book whispered in his mind. "_A dark forest, to the east. In the heart of the former Darklands. Even now, the buried secret still corrupts the land, subtly, its poison seeping into the very air. They were banished, but managed to secret the tools of their return away. Go there. I will guide you."_

"What is there?" Voldemort begged, his mind still reeling. "What must be done?"

More images flashed through his mind, startlingly clear, depicting what must be done.

"Very well," Voldemort whispered, and hurried off to make plans, screaming for his Death Eaters to attend him.

* * *

Harry glared at his opponent, ready, waiting for him to make even the slightest mistake. The battle had been going for over an hour, each side sustaining casualties, but neither able to completely overcome the other. 

His foe was skilled...there was no denying that. It was only thanks to his skill and luck that his forces hadn't been completely vanquished. One wrong move on either side would end it. His opponent's eyes darted back and forth, searching for a weakness, an opening, anything that would help him win. They had pushed back and forth repeatedly, each of them testing the other's defenses time and time again, but the battle was drawing to a close.

His foe's hand twitched nervously as he made his move and attacked, and Harry saw his chance, and seized it.

"Checkmate," he said, grinning, as he moved his Queen into position.

"Dammit!" Ron muttered, glaring at the board in frustration. "That's not possible, you suck at chess!"

"He _used_ to suck at chess," Ginny corrected, looking up from the book she was reading, to smile at Harry proudly.

"At least now you have a challenge Ron," Hermione added her piece.

"I don't _want_ a challenge, I _want_ to win!" Ron muttered under his breath.

July was half over, and the youngest Weasleys and Hermione had joined Harry at Godric's Hollow, along with Sirius and Remus.

Just then, the afore-mentioned Marauders, along with Harry's parents, entered the room, mid conversation.

"But I just don't see why we don't go after him now!" Sirius exclaimed, plopping himself down into a chair. "We know where he is."

"For the last time Sirius," Lily said, exasperated. "You heard Severus. Voldemort still has a number of Death Eaters, and the Dark Fortress is heavily warded. It would cost too much to attack."

Harry grimaced at that. Personally, he disagreed. One couldn't win a war with only defense. Unfortunately, too many people disagreed with him.

"We can't afford the losses Sirius. We'll wait, Voldemort will make his move again, Snape says he's planning something. When he does, we'll get him, and this time he won't get away. Beside's, apparently, since the attack on Hogwart's, Voldemort's...sanity has been fading. Assuming he ever had any to begin with. He'll make a mistake and when he does, we will have him," James stated decisively.

They continued along this vein for several minutes, before changing the subject towards less interesting things, and Harry stopped paying attention, instead challenging Ron to a re-match.

* * *

"What the hell are we doing out here?" Lucius asked in annoyance, as the group followed the Dark Lord through the shadowy forest. 

"Silence Lucius, do not question me," Voldemort hissed, his eyes still scanning the forest as they moved, looking for something specific.

Draco Malfoy, having escaped the battle at Hogwarts and recently been Marked, hurried along behind his father, muttering to himself. Several other high-ranking Death Eaters accompanied them, including Bellatrix Lestrange.

"There!" Voldemort cried suddenly, and hurried forward, to a stone that stuck up from the ground. To the Death Eaters, it simply looked like any other stone.

Yet it wasn't, and as the Dark Lord whispered words in a long forgotten language, fed to him by the Book, it began to glow darkly, and split in two, revealing a dark stairwell, descending into the ground below.

"Lumos," the Dark Lord lit his wand, and slowly descended into the shadows.

Shrugging to themselves, his Death Eaters followed.

They descended what must have been at least 300 metres, and eventually emerged into an open space, no walls visible amidst the darkness.

"Lumos Maxima," the Dark Lord cried again, and this time a bright, shimmering ball shot from his wand to hover in the air high above them, its light finding the shining blackness of the rock walls.

They stood at the brink of an immense underground cavern, the opposite mile over a kilometer in the distance, the air stale and dry.

The ground was bare for a short space before them, then ruined walls, made of a jet black rock, could be seen, the ruins of an ancient building. More ruined buildings filled the cavern, and shadowed passageways around the edge indicated that this was just a portion of an immense underground complex, a series of caverns that stretched no one knew how far, how deep, under the forest above.

"What is this place?" Bellatrix whispered in awe, looking around.

"Darkhold," Voldemort whispered, and his voice had an echoing, eerie quality that made it obvious his words were not his own. "The Shadowed City. Centre of the Darklands, hidden beneath the earth for untold ages, awaiting the return of its masters."

"Huh?" Draco asked, confusion and an inkling of fear on his face.

Voldemort ignored him, as he began to advance into the ruins.

"Come, we must find the Necropolis."

The Death Eaters followed nervously. The very essence of this place felt...evil. Evil unlike any they had ever experienced. They could practically feel the darkness upon their skin. The shadows around them seemed to move, and they could have sworn they were being watched. Nervously, they kept their wands at the ready, eyeing the ruins as they passed.

They came to a tunnel, leading down into the shadows. An arch loomed over the tunnel entrance, a grotesque construction of black stone, carved with skulls and figures in torment. As they passed through the tunnel, they could have sworn they heard an echoing laugh, and a chill breeze blew past.

Draco Malfoy shivered as the chill breeze raised goose bumps on the back of his neck. The air has been still -lifeless. There shouldn't have been any breeze. He swallowed, his throat thick, unease growing with each step he took. His stomach was a gnawing pit, and he didn't know why, but he felt a sudden dread as he entered the tunnel. Ever fibre in his body just wanted to run screaming.

At last, the tunnel opened into another, smaller, cavern. This one was filled with only one building, but its massive ruins still stood, more so then any of the others. Great black walls stood tall, but crumbling, age and time taking its toll. But still...this building, or something within, felt like it still had a purpose. Like it was calling to them, whispering in their ears.

They entered through the shattered hole where once a mighty gate must have stood, but now only empty air remained.

More of the same black rock lay scattered upon the floor, but their eyes were drawn forward, to a raised dais in the centre of the room.

There stood a black altar, its edges a cruel effigy of death and torment, the images carved there made them all nervous. A dagger, blade and hilt black as the altar beneath it, rested upon its top.

Voldemort moved swiftly, approaching the dais, the Death Eaters following cautiously.

Voldemort practically shook with excitement as he reached for the blade, but paused just before he touched it. His hand instead traced the dark letters that were carved into the top of the altar, his mouth moving soundlessly.

"What does it say my Lord?" Lucius asked.

"The Final Words of the Darkness," Voldemort said, his eyes flickering madly. "It reads;

'_And spoke the skull as wards were sealed, that death would come to thee and thine. For power festers in the dark, and fools forget when given time.'"_

"What does it mean?" Asked one of the Death Eaters.

Voldemort ignored the question, reaching instead for the dagger, grasping it in his clawlike fingers.

"It means, you fool, that this is where _they_ can be released," Voldemort hissed.

"Who are _they?_" Draco blurted out.

Voldemort laughed, the sound echoing through the cavern.

"Come here boy, you shall be rewarded for your recent actions," Voldemort said, his grip on the dagger tightening.

Draco swallowed nervously, fear and a sudden dreadful feeling of doom making him almost tremble, as he slowly stepped up next to the Dark Lord.

"You are being given a great...honour. You will be the key...you will open the way."

Draco's trembling increased, and he barely managed to force out a whisper. "H-how?"

"You must spill blood upon the altar," Voldemort said, handing the dagger to the quivering Draco.

"How-how much?" stuttered Draco.

"Only a drop," Voldemort whispered, but the cruel gleam in his eyes did little to assuage Draco's fear.

Draco looked to his father for help, but Lucius Malfoy looked on uncaring.

"Do it boy, do it NOW!" Voldemort yelled, and Draco jumped at the sudden noise, the blade in his hand nicking him slightly, drawing a single drop of blood.

The drop of blood, gleaming red, ran down the blade quickly, then seemed to hover for a timeless instant at the end of the blade, before falling.

The moment that single drop splashed onto the black stone of the altar, the cruel red contrasting brightly against the black stone, Draco's world dissolved in pain.

He watched as the flesh of his hand, still gripping the dagger, blackened and dissolved away, leaving only gleaming bone. The blackness spread quickly, devouring his flesh, as he collapsed upon the altar in horrendous pain as his very flesh was eaten away.

In mere moments, all that remained was a gleaming skeleton, still gripping the dagger in a death-vice.

One of the Death Eaters leapt back, horrified, and stumbled, as a stone beneath his foot moved. Looking around in shock, he called out.

"My Lord! The ruins...they are rebuilding themselves!"

The rocks strewn across the floor were indeed moving, magically lifting off the ground, reforming into the walls and ceiling of the ancient building. A screech of metal was heard, and a dark gate stood once more in the entranceway.

"Yes," Voldemort said, his eyes fixated upon a spot beyond the altar.. "Darkhold has awakened...it is rebuilding itself for them."

"For who?" Bellatrix cried out, dodging aside as a large stone shot past, almost smashing into her, before noticing her Master's stare.

Voldemort's gaze was locked upon a spot several metres behind the altar, where a dark, inky black light was quickly spreading. Around the room, more of the swirling black portals were forming.

"Them," Voldemort whispered.

A dark, shadowed figure stepped from the darkness.

* * *


	2. Exit Light, Enter Night

**AN: **You will all hate me before this chapter is over. This I promise you. _insert evil grin here._

**Chapter 1: Exit Light, Enter Night**

Harry jerked from his sleep suddenly, as a chill breeze blew through the open window. The curtains billowed outward and the trees outside rustled.

"Harry?" Ginny murmured softly, the sudden movement having broken her sound sleep. "What's wrong?" She asked, yawning.

"I don't know," Harry replied, settling his head back down onto his pillow, and hugging Ginny to him. "Something just...felt wrong all of a sudden."

Ginny sighed softly, resting her head on his chest and quickly drifting back to sleep.

When the sun rose upon the horizon, casting its light into the room, it found Harry still awake, eyes open and filled with unease and uncertainty.

* * *

The chill wind swept the walls of Hogwarts, but only one within felt its passing. 

The Watcher felt it, heard it, and knew what caused it. Excitement and adrenaline surged through him.

He rose, walking to a chest that he had not opened since packing it, over thirty years before. He opened it, and lifted a gleaming battle axe from the top of the items within. Its heavy weight felt perfect in his hand, and he ran a finger along one edge, testing its sharpness. The blade sliced his skin with ease, drawing blood, still razor sharp even after decades of sitting unused.

Soon, he knew. Soon he would get a chance to wield his weapons against those they were forged to fight. Long had they waited, and chafed at being forced to hold back. To watch as battles raged around them, and they were unable to fight.

They were close...a mere day and a half hard march from the elven fortress-turned school...soon they would take their place in the world once more. Soon they would march beside their ancient allies, and drive their enemies back.

* * *

All around them, dark figures were emerging from the swirling portals, but Lucius Malfoy paid no heed to anything but what was before him. 

The violent and undeniably painful death of his son had shocked him, but all that was forgotten as a wave of unnatural fear swept over him. It was all he could do to keep from fleeing in terror as he beheld the figure that had first stepped from one of the portals.

The...thing, whatever it was, looked like it was practically bred for killing. Tall and imposing, it towered over them, standing a good seven feet tall, heavily muscled and powerful. It stood encased in gleaming black armour, and carried a massive, brutal looking sword in its armoured fist.

It had a massive scar jutting across its pale-skinned face, crossing over one blood red eye, and descending towards pale lips. A low growl escaped its throat as its lips curled upward in a snarl, baring wicked fangs and pointed teeth.

"At last," it said, its voice a low, deep, cruel rumble. "We are free from that accursed prison."

"Yes," Voldemort cried, moving forward and standing tall. "And I released you! You must obey me!"

Dark laughter came from all around, as more dark figures, some clad in armour and some in black, rune-inscribed robes, converged around the Death Eaters.

The one they seemed to look to as a leader looked down at the so called 'Dark Lord' and sneered.

"Fool," it growled, and its fist lashed out, blackened gauntlet backhanding Voldemort in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground. "You may have released us, and for that we won't kill you, but do not presume to think you can command those such as we. You are weak human. Nothing. A slave, nothing more."

"You will not speak to our Lord like that!" Bellatrix Lestrange cried out, stepping forward, her eyes mad. Her sanity had surely long since left her.

Moments later her head left her as well, tumbling free of her body.

"I am now your Lord," the leader said decisively, his blade running red with her blood. "I am Victus, Champion of the Nekmari, Overlord of the First Host, and Commander of Shadow. You serve me now, or you die."

Voldemort suddenly realized his dreams of power and domination would not be coming true, but he had no wish to die that night, so nodded fearfully, his remaining Death Eaters following suit.

"Good," Victus said, and surveyed the rest of his kind that stood within the Necropolis. They were his commanders, the leaders of his forces, of both warriors and magics.

"Go now," He commanded, looking first at his five generals. "Rally your hosts, and march. Craxus, secure Darkhold, and the tunnels. The rest of you, go above. Purge the land within a large radius of Darkhold. Establish a perimeter. Any humans you find, harvest. If any resist, kill them."

The armour clad warriors saluted, grinning in wicked anticipation, and strode forth. Victus next turned to the remaining robe clad Nekmari who remained.

"All of you except Galros, go forth, gather your units. I can't imagine the Hosts will be able to restrain themselves from the slaughter after so long. There will be many dead humans," the waiting Nekmari shared knowing grins. "Find the dead...and enlist them. In death, they shall serve us. Once the perimeter is established, shield it."

The robed ones nodded, and vanished without a sound.

"Galros, see if your scrying has any success. Find our enemies, I want to know where they are, how many there are, everything. Try and make contact with our old allies and servants while you're at it." Victus commanded, and the remaining magi nodded.

"Wait," Victus continued, before the magi could leave. "Get rid of this skeleton. Leave the other," he said, gesturing to the altar and the skeleton resting upon it.

Galros nodded, and with barely a move of his hand, the skeleton of Draco Malfoy twitched, then rose, the black dagger still clutched in his hand. The necromancer could control a host of over a thousand such skeletal minions with focus, this one took barely a moment of thought to raise and command. He saluted, then vanished, taking the skeletal slave with him.

The Nekmarin commander then turned to the humans who remained.

"Wait outside, I will attend to you shortly. I will need all the information from you of this time and any who would stand against us," he commanded.

"Y-yes, my Lord," Voldemort stammered. "What, what about..." He started, gesturing to the remains of Lestrange.

Victus laughed, the sound deep and harsh. "I will join you shortly...it has been many millennia since I have fed."

A black tongue licked pale lips, and Voldemort and the Death Eaters hurried from the Necropolis, ignoring the sounds of tearing flesh behind them.

* * *

The muggle family sat in their living room, the television on. Two young children played on the floor in front of the couch, while their parents watched the news. It was early evening, and the moon was bright in the sky. 

A sudden chill passed over them, and the light from the moon streaming in from the window was suddenly gone, leaving the night outside blacker then they had ever seen.

The father rose from the couch, and looked confused out the window. He suddenly felt unexplained fear spread through him. Sudden silence behind him made him turn around, and realize both his children were now shivering fearfully, and the television had flickered off.

He strode to the door, and opened it, just as an low, echoing sound emerged from the darkness. It sounded like a horn behind blown far away, but had a distinctly cruel sound to it.

He reached beside the door, and flicked on the porch light, and his eyes widened suddenly, fearfully, as he saw what lurked in the darkness.

He didn't even have time to shout as a black shafted crossbow bolt punched into his chest, throwing him backwards across the living room. The last thing he heard was the screams of his wife and children before life fled him.

* * *

"They resisted," the warrior said, laughing wickedly as he wiped the child's blood from his blade. The little bastard had tried to run, but hadn't gotten very far at all before the Nekmarin had caught him. His screams had been so loud, so sweet, as the black blade slowly pierced his chest and found his juvenile heart. The Nekmari hadn't heard such sweet sounds, or tasted such sweet fear in far too long, and they reveled in it.

The others within the house laughed, then silenced as a robed figure, carrying a staff topped with a human skull, entered the building and looked around.

"If you keep killing all of them," it snapped, "there won't be any for the Camps."

One of the warriors laughed again, nudging the dead human male with his foot. It had been his crossbow bolt that had caught the stupid, unsuspecting human.

"Bah, there's enough of them around. The camps will be full soon enough," he growled. "Don't worry about the food supply. We'll fill the camps, and keep them full. None of us shall go hungry again."

The robed figure nodded, then waved its staff briefly, and the dead bodies of the humans twitched, and rose, obeying the necromancer's dark commands.

All across the small town in northern Albania, Nekmari broke into homes, and slaughtered the inhabitants, and moments later, they were raised as undead servants of the Darkness.

By the end of the week, an almost 100 square mile section of Albania had been swept through, the Nekmari attacking so swiftly and covering ground so fast that no word leaked out to anyone about what was occurring.

When the Nekmari warriors had established the perimeter, the Magi cast a shield over the entire area, and the whole area simply vanished to those outside it, erased from their memory, and wiped from all maps.

* * *

"Well?" Victus asked, looking at the necromancer expectantly.

Galros rolled out a map onto the table between them. The material it was drawn on was fresh, still somewhat soft. It took human skin several months to dry fully.

"Our enemies are fools," The necromancer said, laughing softly. "They have grown weak, complacent it seems. They no longer even shield their locations."

He marked a trio of locations on the map.

"Here, here and here. The three outlying cities still lay. Two are still on the main continent, although this one," he said, pointing at an island off the coast of the continent. "Is on land that apparently has broken away from the mainland since we last made war. All three are warded, but nothing we cannot get through, and their populations are low. They've grown weak. The isolated one is the largest, but even then, not more then a fraction of its former size."

Victus grinned eagerly.

"There is a small detachment of enemy troops here, on this larger island, at the site of the former fortress of Dalandrin-"

He was interrupted as Victus snarled angrily. How he hated that fortress. Too many times had the forces stationed there repelled countless attacks, and from there they had struck hard against the Nekmari hosts.

"It appears to be nothing more then a human school now. Its defenses are strong, but nothing we can't break through. A low priority target now."

Victus nodded, thankful that the damned place wouldn't cause them much problem.

"None of those are important. What is the status of their damned Empire?" Victus snarled.

Here the necromancer chuckled again.

"That's just it Overlord. It's gone."

"What?" Victus looked up at him in shock.

The necromancer nodded.

"Completely gone. Even before, I could at least sense its shields, even if I couldn't see it. It was a empty space in my mind, but it was always there. Now...it's just not. The enemy is weak."

"You're sure? They aren't just hiding?"

Galros nodded. "No Overlord. They are truly gone. I sense the powers of their old gods, but even that is weak, almost powerless."

"Excellent," Victus laughed, "the might of the Light is gone...now we shall emerge victorious."

Galros nodded, and turned slightly as another armoured figure, General Craxus, entered the room.

"Overlord, Darkhold is secured. Many of the tunnels have collapsed during the time of our imprisonment, but we are working on getting them re-opened. We shall have full mobility across the Darklands soon."

"Good," Victus said, pleased. "I have a mission for you and your Elite."

Craxus grinned eagerly. His Elite were the best, and knew it. Missions they received were always...fun.

"The human who released us, who calls himself 'Voldemort'," the other two Nekmari snorted in derision at the foolish name, "he told me much. Apparently, the enemy and their human allies have put great value in the life of a certain Prince. They have named him Champion."

Craxus's grin widened wickedly, and he looked at Victus hopefully.

"Yes," Victus said, confirming the General's thought. "His death will be a great blow to their morale, and their spirit. What more suitable a way to announce our return then by killing their Champion?"

The General nodded. His Elite had only failed to eliminate one target before, and that had been an exceptional one. Time and time again, they had slain enemy leaders and champions.

"What's more, he is currently far away from any possible reinforcements, and in a very poorly protected location."

"We will leave immediately Overlord. We shall not fail you," Craxus growled.

"You had better not. I have not forgotten your failure in the past. Do not fail me again."

The Nekmari general nodded, and turned to leave.

"And Craxus," Victus called after him, "let him die slowly. Let him suffer. Let him bleed out his life into the cold ground, with no hope of being saved. Let them find him, and know that they too shall die as he; slowly, and with a great deal of suffering."

The General's eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation, as he saluted and strode away to gather his force.

* * *

Harry sighed happily. He couldn't remember a time when he felt as comfortable...as relaxed, as right now.

He kissed the top of Ginny's head, and she smiled up at him, before relaxing again.

They were sitting quietly together in the woods outside Godric's Hollow, leaning against a large tree at the edge of a small clearing, just relaxing and taking pleasure in each others company.

"I love you Gin," he whispered.

She wiggled against him, trying to move closer, even though that was impossible since she was leaning against him.

"Love you too," she replied.

He sighed happily again, and they half dozed off.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice penetrated the fog, and he fully woke up.

"Hmm?"

"Where did the stars go?" She asked, confusion in her voice.

He looked up. She was right. The stars had been visible earlier, he was certain. Now, they had vanished completely, in a very short period of time. That was ...unusual.

"And does it feel a bit...chilly out?" Ginny asked, continuing.

Suddenly Harry felt a very bad feeling sweep over him, and he cursed his carelessness in coming out here with nothing more then his boot daggers as weapons.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, feeling him suddenly tense up.

"I'm not sure," he replied, sitting up quickly, and looking around. "Something isn't right."

Suddenly he felt it. A sudden, unnatural feeling a fear that sought to overwhelm him. Sudden realization shot through him, as the horn around his neck seemed to grow warm against him, and felt a lot heavier. He tried to reach his father's mind, but was repelled, this time by a much more insidious block then before, one that burned his mind upon touching. He cursed silently.

"Ginny, go. Get back to the house, warn my father. Tell him to evacuate everyone to Hogwarts immediately, and to send word to Falandais," Harry said, speaking quickly, already on his feet, daggers in his hands. "Tell him that the enemy has returned, and to order for a full muster of all our forces."

"What?" Ginny asked, fearful. "Harry, I'm not leaving you."

"Ginny, there's no time! Go, please! Warn my father, and get yourself to Hogwarts. I'll be fine, really," Harry said, and he pushed her gently, trying to get her to move. "There's no time, go NOW!"

Finally, she nodded, and took off at a run back to the house.

Harry moved into the centre of the clearing, and lifted the horn around his neck to his lips and gave a long blow, sustained for as long as he could, before letting it fall and raising his daggers, eyes scanning the darkness.

* * *

"Go now, all of you. Floo to Hogwarts immediately," James said, shoving the children towards the fireplace. He'd heard the horn blast and knew what it meant. Ginny's words had only confirmed it.

"What's going on?" Ginny demanded, pushing past him and looking out the door.

"Ginny, you have to leave, please. He wouldn't want to you stay, you'll be in terrible danger," James said, trying to turn her back towards the fireplace.

"So is he," She said, ignoring his attempts to pull her back.

"Ginny, he'll be fine, I promise you, he can handle it. Come on, will you please floo to Hogwarts?" He begged.

Finally, she nodded, and he sighed happily.

"Thank you," he said, pulling her to the fireplace. They were the last ones left. Ginny nodded, and moved to the fireplace.

She was about to cast the powder into the fire, when she felt a sudden feeling of extreme agony through her bond to Harry. It shot through her whole body, and though it hurt so much, she knew it must be ten times worse for him.

"Harry!" She screamed, and shoved past James, and sprinting away into the night.

James swore, and stood on the brink, indecision reigning. He could pursue her, but there was no guarantee he would be able to catch her in time.

No, the best bet was to get to Hogwarts immediately and return with reinforcements.

He moved swiftly to the floo, and threw the powder in, shouting out his destination and hoping he was making the right decision.

* * *

Harry heard a twig snap behind him, and he spun, throwing one of the daggers he carried in the direction of the noise.

His eyes widened in shock as the dagger was caught inches from its destination by a mailed fist.

The armoured figure that had caught it laughed, the sound taunting and cruel.

"You are too slow Elfling," it hissed, tossing the dagger aside as it strode fully into the clearing. "Too slow, and too weak. You are the Champion? Then your race has truly fallen."

Harry glared angrily, and then leapt forward suddenly, remaining dagger out and slashing. His opponent merely dodged aside, so quickly it shouldn't have been possible, and his mailed fist lashed out, catching Harry in the side of the head, the force of the blow causing the elf to stumble, and shake his head in a daze, before facing his foe once more.

"Too predictable. Too easy," it said, grinning.

Harry was about to retort when he felt a stabbing pain in his leg, and he looked down to see a black crossbow bolt had punched deep into the flesh of his upper leg. He hissed in pain, and leaned more heavily upon his other leg. He saw another of the bastards emerge from the woods in front of him, chuckling evilly, and loading another bolt into its crossbow.

"Caught all alone and unarmoured in the middle of the dark woods...careless..."

Harry barely repressed a scream of pain as he felt another bolt stab into him, this time punching through his shoulder, the force of it dropping him to his knees, and he knew there was at least one more of them behind him. The pain was intense and he arched his back, his wings fanning out behind him as the pain coursed through him.

"Your people will die elf," Craxus said, grinning cruelly down at the still defiant elf before him. "One by one, your race will be wiped out, and the Darkness will consume this world."

Harry spat at him, then cried out as he felt cold steel fingers grip his wings from behind, twisting them, and pain lashed through his back as the muscles twisted in unnatural ways.

Craxus's smile widened, and he drew forth his sword, a long, brutal black blade.

"Such useless extremities those," he whispered softly, moving around to Harry's side. "How about we remove them for you?"

Harry saw the black blade rise, and could not suppress the scream this time as he felt the blade hack through his wings, pain unlike any he had ever experienced flooding through him as his back became a fountain of blood.

He collapsed backwards onto the ground, screaming in agony as more and more of the black figures emerged from the shadows, encircling him, laughing viciously, watching him bleed.

"We were told to let you die slowly," Craxus said, squatting down next to the bleeding elf. "But I've little patience..."

The Nekmari drew a shorter, wider sword from its waist, and held it up before himself, point down, studying it for a moment, before looking back at the elf.

"You'll live for a few minutes longer...if your lucky."

The Nekmarin General thrust downward suddenly, the sharp blade piercing through the centre of Harry's chest, emerging bloodily from his back to dig into the soft ground beneath him.

"Goodnight Elfling," Craxus whispered, before standing and striding away into the dark night, the other Nekmari following. They dissolved into the night as though they had never been there, leaving the dying elf in the centre of the clearing.

Harry coughed and he tasted blood in his mouth. His vision was rapidly dimming and he knew he didn't have long.

"Harry!" A scream of horror pierced his dimming mind, and he numbly felt the presence of Ginny beside him. "Oh god Harry, no!"

She knelt over him, tears running down her face.

"Love...you," he managed to choke out, through the blood that welled up in his throat.

"No, Harry, no," she cried. "I won't let you go without me, if you go I go too, I swore it," she whispered silently.

He gripped her hand in his weakly, smiling faintly with blood-specked lips.

"I won't leave you," she whispered softly.

The light slowly faded from his eyes, and, their souls entwined so tightly as to be inseparable, the darkness took them both.

* * *

James strode through the Great Hall of Hogwarts, yelling orders, as various elves ran all about, rushing to obey them. Dumbledore and the rest of those who had fled the Potter house were followed along behind him, confused as to what was going on.

Suddenly James stopped cold, his face growing pale. Beside him, Lily suddenly gave a pitiful cry and he hugged her to his chest, holding her tightly.

For they both felt the sudden dissolution of a connection they had felt since their son had been born.

"What?" Sirius asked, sudden dread filling him.

James turned around to look at them, grief and pain visible in his eyes.

"My...my son is dead."

* * *

**Right, well, I'm going to go hide in this here bunker I've dug so that none of you can hurt me. See you in a bit!**


	3. Darker Days

**Chapter 2: Darker Days**

"So now what?" Allia asked, still in disbelief. Everything had changed so suddenly. Out of nowhere, their enemies had returned, and Elven morale was at its lowest with the sudden death of their Champion. "By the light, what do we do?"

"We fight," James replied dully, leaning over the war map in their Staging room in Hogwarts.

"How?" Allia questioned. "We don't know where they are, we don't know how many they are, we don't know what they're capable of. We know almost nothing about them."

"You think I don't know that?" James cried suddenly, looking over at her. "I know it too damn well. We've no idea what we're up against, and there's not a bloody thing we can do about it."

"The Strike Force needs someone to rally behind. They need a leader they can believe in, now more then ever." Captain Seerin said, adding his piece. His command still made camp outside the walls of Hogwarts.

"They had one," James whispered, the pain still fresh in his mind. Only a week had passed. No body had been recovered...for either of the two. All that had been there when they had returned to the scene was blood stained grass...and his son's severed wings.

"Your son is dead Sir," Seerin said simply. "You must accept that. Now someone MUST take his place as the figurehead of the light."

"He's right you know," Allia said, sighing deeply. "The King has already granted you command over our forces, if you will but take it."

"Why me? The Strike Force has it's own Generals. Why not them?" Came the reply.

"Because while they may command the soldier's weapons, someone must command their hearts. They need someone to inspire them, a figurehead, someone without fear or weakness. Or someone they _think _has no fear or weakness. They _need_ a strong leader."

"But why me?"

"They all feel a lack of hope, with Emrys' death. Should you, his own father, stand tall and proud before them, and show nothing but strength and determination, how could they not be inspired? They will see you, unwavering, mournful but not broken, defying our enemy, and they will be strengthened by it."

"But what if I don't feel that way?"

"It does not matter what you DO feel." Allia said softly, looking at him. "Its what they believe you feel. They need a symbol of hope. They need a leader."

* * *

James stood before the massed might of the Elven forces of Falandais, and finished his speech. 

"We have defeated them once," he cried out, "we shall do so again! For Justice, For the Light, we shall emerge victorious!"

James raised a fist into the air as the cheers rang out from the elves gathered in the shadow of the Palace. Turning, he strode into the building, Allia falling into step beside him.

As soon as the door had shut behind them, James sighed, leaning against a wall dejectedly.

"Every word of that was a bloody lie, and you know it."

Allia shrugged, "At least now they'll have the strength to fight."

James nodded, but inwardly, he was distraught. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be happening. Too long, they had known peace, and suddenly it had been shattered.

"We've had word from Lathadrin and Erylandros," Allia continued. "They've mustered their forces. Lathadrin will look to the defense of the southern portions of the mainland, and Erylandros the north. Each have sent garrisons to the Wizarding School in their territories."

James looked up in surprise at this. "Why?"

"Because like it or not," she answered, "the wizarding folk are involved in this war. Those schools will be targets, you know this. Voldemort knows that to crush the schools will destroy the wizarding world's moral. Why else was he always so focused on Hogwarts? We will need them as allies in this, and as such, we need to defend them."

James nodded, acknowledging the sense of it.

"Feadir's done some research in the library. From what he read, the enemy will focus on us first, and the wizards. They'll bypass Muggle cities and forces for the most part now. They will strike at us, and the wizarding world swiftly, and brutally, erasing us from the world before crushing the Muggles." Allia said. "You've been given command of two thirds of our forces, to be based out of Hogwarts. Your task is to defend it, and Great Britain. However, should you receive word of enemy movements on the continent, you're granted full permission to take a force to battle them. The other third of our forces are going to be stationed here, to defend Falandais."

"Back to Hogwarts for us then eh?" James said, smiling slightly.

Allia shook her head, a grimace of annoyance and irritation on her face.

"Unfortunately, no." she replied. "I've been ordered to remain here, and command part of the defense."

"Damn," James swore, frowning in disappointment.

He stared silently at the wall for a few moments, before sighing and looking at Allia once more.

"Should things go poorly," he paused, breathing deeply. "It was good to know you."

He turned then, and walked away, not looking back.

Allia remained for several minutes, silent and reflective. She knew what he believed, and couldn't help fearing the same.

That it was highly likely they would never see each other again in the realm of the living.

* * *

Evelyn sighed sadly, trudging through the silent halls of the Palace. She was so utterly bored. 

After a week of the excitement of the mustering of the Strike Force, things had suddenly...settled. Oh, the air was still tense with fear and worry, but to her it was just...boring.

She wasn't to be allowed to return to Hogwarts. Her father had deemed her to be safer at Falandais.

There was no one to entertain her anymore; Uncle James (she personally liked his human name far more then his elven one, and insisted on using it) had left almost a week age. Allia had left not long after, having been assigned to the defenses at the southern reaches of Falandais territory. She'd ridden off with a portion of the garrison to see to that, and wasn't expected back for a month, at least.Her father was busy with whatever it was he did in the Temple all day, and her mother was busy mass producing healing potions and bandages that the soldiers would no doubt need.

And she was left hanging. Too young to help with gathering supplies or helping in her mothers work, too old to just be content to play games and ignore the situation.

Sighing to herself, she flopped herself down on cushioned chair that sat in a little niche in the hall.

"I'm so BORED!" She yelled aloud, then frowned slightly, turning and reaching behind her. With a look of surprise on her face, she pulled out her riddle book.

"Well that's odd, I could have sworn I left you in my room," she said, addressing the book as though expecting it to explain its sudden appearance. Then she shrugged.

"Oh well, mind as well take advantage,"

She opened up the book, and looked at the riddle within. It was one she hadn't seen before, having closed the book without reading it after solving the previous one.

_This engulfing thing is strange indeed,_

_the greater is grows, the less you see..._

She looked at it for a moment, then shook slightly, seeing the answer, but not wanting to say it.

"Darkness," she whispered.

As the book shone, and the page turned, she shivered.

"Well, that was depressing," she muttered to herself, as she looked at the new riddle.

_With a great crash_

_With searing light_

_The heart of the storm_

_I shatter the night._

She smiled faintly. She knew this one. She'd heard it before actually, one night during the summer when there had been a thunderstorm. She'd been scared, she always was, but Emrys had comforted her...and joked with her. He'd asked her it, and when she couldn't get it, he'd given her a hint that it was 'something the storm and he had in common."

"Lightning," she said, and smiled softly as the book glowed.

She sighed faintly after it, sadly. She missed her cousin.

* * *

Snape apparated into to the Dark Lord's location nervously. This would be his first time making contact since the Dark Lord had allied himself with those...devils. 

From behind his mask, he sweated nervously, worried about what the call had been for.

"Welcome my Death Eaters," Voldemort hissed, smiling at his gathered minions. "I've called you here because tomorrow, we will be attacking those who defeated us earlier this year. We shall destroy those who dared stand against us-"

"Enough," the dark lord was interrupted, as a large, muscled pale skinned figure stepped out of the shadows behind him, and Severus got his first glimpse of the new power on the side of darkness.

"You babble too much, useless human, for your 'forces' won't be participating on the morrow, I've no desire to have to babysit a bunch of weaklings on the battlefield." Victus said, snarling, as he shoved Voldemort aside and eyed the gathered Death Eaters. Baring his teeth, he approached them slowly.

"I would just kill you all here, but you may possibly prove useful in the future, so I won't. But know this. You serve me now. Your lives belong to me, to do with as I wish."

Victus stopped in front of one Death Eater, Dolohov, and grabbed him by the throat, holding him up, and staring silently at him.

"Are we understood?" He spoke, slowly tightening his grip. The Death Eater nodded fearfully, and Victus dropped him.

"Frail weaklings," He snarled. "But I'll let you live. For now."

Victus turned away, and started to walk away, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief, looking down briefly to re-compose himself.

"Most of you," came the low, evil voice of the Nekmari overlord, laughing cruelly, and Snape's head snapped up, to see that the fiend had turned again.

"However, one of you...smells like a traitor. I smell the taint of the Light upon one of you, and I can taste your fear."

Severus swallowed nervously, reassuring himself with the fact that the Nekmari was looking further to his left, at some other Death Eater.

"One of you is a spy. One of you is a traitor, a weakling allied with the Light. There is only one punishment for such, and it is far worse then death," the voice seemed to echo in Severus's head, and he closed his eyes trying to calm himself.

"You will beg for death long before it is granted, fool," came the voice from directly in front of him, and Snape opened his eyes to see the glowing red eyes of the Nekmari staring at him from directly in front of him.

Severus Snape had enough time to blink once, as a sinking knowledge of defeat settled over him, before a mailed fist smashed into his face, and he knew no more.

* * *

September came quickly, too quickly for some. Hogwart's opened again on September 1st to the wizarding students, who were shocked as they approached the castle to see armed guards, elven guards, patrolling the grounds in groups, and from the forest, plumes of smoke rose marking numerous campfires. 

The Start of Year feast began as normal, the sorting going smoothly. Dumbledore rose, intent on informing the students in as calm and comforting way as possible that the war would no doubt be escalating, and to explain the increased military presence.

He wanted to inform them gently, to build up to the situation.

He would not get that chance.

The doors burst open, and a bloody figure, supported by two of the elven guardsmen, entered the room.

"Where is the commander?" The figure, a pale faced elf in livery of a different colour then those supporting him, gasped, blood speckling his lips.

James rose from his seat, and hurried forward.

"I am here, what is it, what happened?" He demanded, while several elven healers rushed into the room and started surrounding the injured elf, who batted them away.

"My wounds can wait, I must report," he coughed, before looking at James. "Commander, Erylandros is overrun."

James paled, as did all the elves who heard his words. The students began whispering to each other, asking if any knew what was going on.

"What? How? When? How?" James stuttered in disbelief.

"We were tricked," the messenger said, gasping suddenly and clutching his side in pain, before continuing. "They sent a force to attack Durmstrang. We responded, sending a portion of our garrison from the city to aid the school."

James nodded, understanding. Erylandros, by some strange coincidence, was physically very close to the northern school.

"It was a trap. Our reinforcements to the school were ambushed, slaughtered almost to the elf. The school itself is no doubt destroyed as well. One of the mages managed to escape, to get back to the city. He warned us, but by then it was too late. The enemy showed up out of nowhere. All around us. They must have found and killed all our sentries. The city had almost no warning. Our garrison was just barely organizing when the enemy forces swarmed into us. We didn't stand a chance." The elf said, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

"How many of them were there?" James asked, though sheer horror at thought of what happened threatened to overwhelm him, he kept his focus.

"Thousands," the messenger choked out. "More. Plus, they had dementors, but the dementors seemed...stronger then anything we knew of them. Almost as though the Nekmari's sheer presence alone strengthened them. And undead...thousands of skeletal warriors. Our garrison was only three thousand. We were butchered."

"Why didn't you call for aid? Why didn't you send to here before now, for reinforcements?" came the obvious question.

The messenger grimaced. "We tried, believe me we did. All day we tried. They killed any birds we tried to send. They blocked us, somehow, from forming gates within the city. They had warriors all through the forest, anyone who tried to sneak out of the city was caught. I was the eighth messenger sent, all of us able to at least form a gate strong enough for ourselves, and even I didn't get through unscathed. They almost caught me but I managed to get past their pickets and gate."

James paled, realizing that without a means of forming gates within the city, the odds of survivors...

"And the rest of the city?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"I heard the King's final order before I gated out," the mage said, drawing a painful breath. "He ordered _Quel'dandar. _

The elf suddenly wobbled, and collapsed, and the elves supporting him pulled aside a portion of his robes to reveal a huge wound in his side. The elf must have been in sheer agony while delivering his message, only staying up out of sheer willpower.

"Justice," the dying elf whispered as he shuddered, and lay still.

All the blood had paled from James's face by then, as Dumbledore, who had been standing behind him, asked what the elven word meant.

"What is it James?"

"_Quel'dandar_...it is a war order...that has not been used in millennia. No one ever really believed it would ever be used, but it was always included in training. It's a standing order to all elves. The king of Erylandros...he ordered his people to arm every man, woman and child, and prepare to die in battle. It's an order only given when one knows one is going to die. It's also a warning to any others...that hope is lost. Not to attempt rescue or reinforcement. That they were doomed."

"How many...how many lived in this city?"

James closed his eyes in grief.

"Twelve thousand, roughly. Almost a quarter of our race, wiped out in a day."

* * *

**Oh, so in playing with uploading this, I noticed I can make forums, so check my profile page or go here http/ (bugger, wont let me paste a address, so just go to profile page!) to access forums I've attempted to make. There, you can harass me, ask questions, threaten me with pain, its all good.**


	4. Shattered Hope

"_If I do nothing else, I will protect my people."  
-Unknown_

**Chapter 3:** **Shattered Hope**

Smoke lingered in the forest as a company of Nekmari infantry moved through it, bearing torches, weapons, and carrying special equipment suited for their task. Laughing raucously, they lit fires at random as they moved through the dark forest.

"Pha, if those humans lied to us about the location," one snarled, as he hacked low hanging branches out of his way. "I'll cut their filthy throats."

"They didn't," another responded, grinning suddenly, and shoving forward to the front. Ahead of them the forest opened up, and they could see, at the base of the mountains before them, a series of clearings and low buildings tucked into the rocky ridges.

"Spread out," their commanding officer yelled, his voice an angry growl. "You know what we're here for."

Captains barked orders to their own units, and the Nekmari warriors broke apart, scattering in smaller groups into the forest, approaching their objective from all sides.

* * *

A loud roar shattered his sleep, and he rolled from bed, groping blindly in the dark for his pants. Behind him, he could hear the mumbled questions of his most recent bedmate, but he ignored her. Stumbling to the door, he threw it open, stepping out into the cool night air barefoot and bare-chested, eyes widening as he took in the cause of the roar that had awoken him. 

Below him, one of the dragons was pinned to the ground, cruel barbed hooks tearing into the great beast's wings, being held tight by a number of dark figures that swarmed around the valley, pouring out of the forest. Panicked, the dragon roared again, struggling in vain, only succeeding in sinking the hooks even deeper into her own flesh. A trio of the figures broke away from those holding the ropes then, and moved to the front. They each bore an obscenely large sized crossbow, each loaded with brutal looking bolts.

The Dragonkeeper watched as they lifted their weapons, firing from far too close to miss, their quarrels piercing the dragons skull and finding it's brain, ceasing its struggles.

A roar of anger sounded as another dragon, a Chinese Fireball, dove from the sky, seeking vengeance against those who had killed its mate. Fire erupted from its gaping maw, incinerating the trio of crossbow wielding figures before they could respond.

Roaring in victory, the dragon flew low, circling around to make another pass, to flame once more. Its roar became one of pain however, as a half dozen crossbow bolts rose to meet him this time, piercing his scales and finding his heart. The dragon crashed to the ground with such force it plowed a furrow several hundred feet long into the ground, before coming to a stop, still and lifeless.

The Dragonkeeper looked around again, and taking in the bodies of his fellows that littered the valley below, knew that he was most likely one of the only ones left. He was lucky, his cabin had been further up the base of the mountain, further from the rest of them. It was probably the only reason he was still alive. Then his eyes caught sight of one group of Nekmari, and he knew they couldn't be anything but the enemy they had recently received word of, emerging from one of the nesting caverns.

'Bloody hell,' he thought, eyes wide. 'They're stealing the eggs!'

It was too much. He stared in grief and horror as another dragon was killed, still locked in its pen and unable to defend itself.

A shrill scream from behind him told him his companion had woken up. He tried to grab her, but she shoved past running blindly down the path that led to the slaughter below. Her brother had been one of those no doubt already killed. In her grief, she'd no doubt just killed herself as well.

Swearing loudly, he paused for a second, before nodding to himself. There were still dragons left in the caves, and they were his responsibility.

Suddenly flames erupted from one of the lower caves, burning the flesh from a handful of Nekmari that had been approaching it, as another dragon launched itself from the caves. Twisting and rolling in the air, it managed to avoid the bolts that rose up to meet it, and the grabbing hooks that sought to bring it down. Roaring once, it vanished into the smoke rising from the forest.

At least one had escaped, and the fact that it had meant someone else was already in the lower caverns, opening the pens of the majority of the dragons still penned. Those were the pens of the dragons deemed too dangerous to fly free in the warded valley, as well as the sickened dragons being looked after.

There was only one held in the upper cavern, which is why there was only one cabin in close proximity to it. It was this Dragonkeeper's personal responsibility, since this particular dragon would tolerate no other keepers near it. For some reason, it only tolerated the one, and they had developed almost a friendship. Well...as friendly as one can expect to get with a dragon.

It was to this cave that Charlie Weasley now hurried.

* * *

"Status?" Growled the officer, as one of his captains hurried over to him. 

"We've slain most of the adults and their keepers. There's still a few adults in the deeper cave, along with what must be the remaining human keepers. They're well defended in there," the captain replied, disappointed in his own failure so far to finish off the enemy.

"And the eggs?" Came the expected question.

"We've obtained 9 dragon eggs, all perfect for our tasks Commander,"

The officer smiled, his eyes glinting, reflecting back the fires of the burning buildings.

"Then we've no more use for anything in the caves," he said simply.

"But Commander, there's still enemies in there,"

"I know," the officer replied, interrupting his subordinate. "But they have nothing we want."

He grinned maliciously as he looked at the cave entrance.

"Seal the cave. Let them rot."

The Nekmari captain grinned in pleasure at the thought, and began to shout orders.

The commander looked around, counting heads, and subtracting the known losses. Coming up short, he looked around again, searching for who was missing.

"Where is Bacros and his unit?" he demanded. "Find them!"

* * *

The Nekmari captain in question swore again as he lost sight of the human they were chasing. The bastard kept weaving between the trees, out of sight before they could get a shot off. Bacros's blood burned in rage, yelling at his unit to move faster, to catch this human that dared to elude them and hurt him. 

Finally they burst out into a clearing to see the human leaning against a tree on the other side catching his breath.

"You've led us on a merry little chase you little bastard, but now you're mine! You won't run away any further," the Nekmari snarled, swinging his sword in front of him in anticipation.

"Oh no no no," the human said, pushing himself off the tree and grinning slightly. "You've completely mis-understood the situation. You see, I wasn't running away from you, I was running to here, after having let you see me."

"Then you're a suicidal fool," Bacros snapped, stalking closer.

"Wrong. Because there is one thing I know that you don't know."

"And what's that?" Bacros asked, deciding to humour the fool before killing him.

"That there is a rather large dragon in the air directly above you who tolerates me, but, considering how he listened to the death cries of his mate as you murdered it, he hates you with a vicious passion." Charlie Weasley said, smirking slightly.

Bacros looked up in shock just in time to see the descending claws of the Norwegian Ridgeback that landed on him, crushing him to the ground with brutal force.

Roaring, the dragon spewed flame in a wide swath, incinerating the rest of the Nekmari unit before they could react.

"Good job Norbert, knew I could count on you," Charlie said, approaching the dragon (rather cautiously, he privately admitted.) "Unfortunately that roar of yours will no doubt bring all sorts of ugly down on top of us, so you'd better get away while you can."

Snorting once, smoke emerging from its nostrils, the dragon seemed to understand, and bunching its legs underneath it, leapt into the air, flying off so low the treetops brushed its scaled stomach.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief at the great beast's safe escape. He knew he didn't have long. He could hear them coming, the footfall of armoured boots approaching swiftly through the forest...

But he would not run. He knew he couldn't get away in time. They were too many, and could outrun him easily. He would face his end bravely.

He looked over and shivered slightly as he watched the Nekmarin emerge from the shadows. The dark figure studied him silently for a moment, before taking in the ash and remains of the fallen.

The Nekmari commander snorted slightly, nudging charred armour with his foot, before looking over at the human that stood so boldly before him.

"Well," he began, his voice low and hoarse. "It seems not everyone in this time is weak and pathetic. You appear to actually have some brains within your skull. Pity there aren't more of you. This has been almost too easy thus far. I'll enjoy killing an -almost- worthy foe."

The Nekmarin smirked, dark eyes glittering wickedly.

A robed figure moved out to stand next to the armoured one, dark cowl making a shadow of the newcomers face.

"Are you finished yet Malakai? We've gotten what we came for, stop toying around," came the soft, almost hissing voice.

"You'll never wi-" Charlie's words were cut off as an invisible force seemed to choke off his air. Eyes widening in shock, he fell to his knees, and his eyes locked on the glowing red ones of the necromancer.

Malakai watched the human slowly suffocate, and glanced back at the necromancer, growling softly.

"That one was mine, Corrus" he snarled.

"Your lust for blood is known Malakai. There will be more of it for you in the future. Now, finish your job," came the soft response.

Snarling angrily, the warrior turned and stormed from the clearing.

The necromancer chuckled softly for a moment, the only sound to be heard in the dead clearing, before looking once more at the now still form of the human.

Approaching it, he whispered softly,

"Your lungs may not draw breath, but while your hands can grip a sword, you will be useful to me," and his magic swirled out, and the still warm body of Charlie Weasley rose from the ground slowly.

* * *

"Dammit Remus," Sirius Black vented, rising swiftly from his seat. "I'm sick of feeling so useless. The world is going to hell around us, and we aren't able to do a damn thing about it." 

"Sirius, calm down. You heard what James said," Remus Lupin said, looking over at his friend. "Our magic is highly ineffective against these...people."

"There has to be something we can do though. James could teach us to fight, we could learn. I just hate sitting here scratching my butt while people are out there dying." Sirius said, leaning against a window sill and staring out the window blankly. "Sometimes I just wish we could go back to being children, and just worry about pranking and homework. Well...you homework, me pranking."

Remus paused for a second, eyebrows wrinkling as he thought.

"You know...that's actually not a bad idea," he supplied.

Sirius looked over, surprised.

"What? Becoming children again? I don't think that's possible Moony."

Remus sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"No you twit. Asking James for training. I mean, if we can't fight our way, why not learn a new way? Its our world too, we have a right to defend it."

Sirius's eyes suddenly had a determination in them that Remus had never seen before.

"Then I think we need to go talk to James."

* * *

"Dammit Hermione," Ron said, pushing the book on the table in front of him away. "I can't do this. How are we supposed to worry about school with...all this damn shit happening in the world?" 

"Ron, listen, I know you're upset, but that doesn't give any excuse to neglect you're schoolwork-" Hermione began.

"No Hermione, you listen. We're learning useless information. I'm sorry, but I refuse to study something as useless as how to animate a wooden statue when there's a war going on, a war we're losing might I add. There are more important things." Ron said angrily, standing up so fast his chair fell over. "We've already lost...well, you know."

"What do you want us to do then Ron?" Hermione asked, nearly in tears. "What can we do?"

"Harry was training Cedric how to fight wasn't he?" Ron asked. "Why can't we learn too. I'd rather be doing something, then just sitting here waiting to die."

"Then let's go talk to Mr. Potter then."

* * *

"No." 

"Why not?" Sirius demanded, looking at his friend, shocked at the abruptness of the denial. They stood within the Great Hall of Hogwarts, shortly before supper time.

"Because. We're losing Sirius. I can't put you in that danger. How can I put you in such a position where your death is so certain?" James asked, looking at his friend sadly. "Even those trained to fight are still being slaughtered, just like..."

"Dammit James, look." Sirius said suddenly, his eyes hard. "I loved Harry as much as you did. I want to avenge him as much as you do."

"I know, but that is not the point," James continued, before getting interrupted again.

"James," Remus said softly. "We _already _are in danger. Everyone is in danger. Please. Give us the chance at least. We don't want to simply stand by and watch our own deaths coming. We want to fight. We want to help. Give us the chance to defend ourselves, at the very least.

"And we aren't the only ones." Sirius said, continuing. "Most of the Order would take training if it were offered. We want to help. Let us."

James looked at the two slowly, breathing in a deep breath as he thought. He took in the certain looks upon their faces, and the determination in their eyes.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He asked.

Both Remus and Sirius nodded, and there could be no doubt of their resolve.

James nodded slightly, more to himself then anything else, and a sad smile graced his lips for a moment.

"Captain Seerin," he called out suddenly, looking away, to where the captain sat at one of the tables going over tactical maps of the area with a few scouts, planning a defense for the castle should it come under attack.

The captain quickly left the table, striding over, saluting smartly before addressing his commanding officer.

"Aye Sir?"

James glanced back at Sirius and Remus briefly, before looking back at the captain.

"Captain. Misters Lupin and Black have just enlisted as the first members of the Human Militia, newest division of the Strike Force. Find them a temporary commanding officer and trainers, and begin drills and weapon training as quickly as possible. They want to be able to fight, they need to learn fast."

The captain saluted again, before striding for the door, Sirius and Remus following somewhat nervously after.

James smiled faintly, knowing his friends would more then likely be finding out just how hard that training would be very soon. Turning away, he paused as he watched what appeared to be most of the seventh year of students approaching him, lead by Ron and Hermione, who had the same look in their eyes as Sirius and Remus just had.

Looking at them, he sighed softly.

"Let me guess..."

* * *

"Well?" Victus asked, looking at Corrus in impatience. 

"It's too early to tell for sure Overlord, but all signs indicate that they have all been properly infected and incubated. We'll know for sure in a few months." The necromancer replied.

"Good. Our progress is going well. The hosts are advancing well along all fronts, eliminating key opponents, but I will want them for upcoming sieges. Still, I am pleased. Scarcely two months, and we've gained back much of the land we once controlled. You are dismissed Corrus." Victus said, looking down once more intently at the map before him. He studied it for a moment, before signaling to one of the attending generals.

"You did well scouting the other elven city, and finding or making holes in their sentries for our forces to slip through. Here is the location of the next target." Victus stabbed a finger at a dot on the map labeled Lathadrin, the third elven city. Take a sizable force, secure a forward position, and scout it. In two weeks, I want it destroyed."

The General nodded, and turned to leave.

"Do not fail me."

* * *

"So, how's training going?" James asked, looking at where his friends sat looking quite exhausted, despite having just awoken. 

"I hate you," Sirius muttered, yawning slightly.

"That sounds about right then. Ready for another day?"

"I hate you," Sirius muttered again.

"Come now Sirius, you've only had one week of training, you can't be that tired already!"

"What did I just say?" Sirius asked, eyeing James.

"That you hate me." James supplied, smirking slightly.

"Ya, I still stand by that."

"That's nice. Well, I must get going, have fun!"

"Bastard."

* * *

"Commander!" 

James looked up as a worn looking elf ran in, looking tired, but wildly excited.

"Yes, what is it? Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Arolan, out of Lathadrin. I bear a message." The elf said, grinning proudly.

"Yes, what is it?"

"A Nekmari attack force was spotted within our lands commander."

"What?" James shot to his feet, panicked. "Why didn't you tell me immediately? How many? Where are they attacking? How many are already dead, are we too late?"

The lieutenant's smile widened, fierce pride in his eyes, as he stood a little straighter, the fatigue seeming to lift from him.

"No sir, they did not see us."

James, and several of his officers who were with him were silent, surprised.

"What?"

"Sir. They do not know we have discovered them. They are scouting our defenses, but we're watching them. From what we can tell, there's roughly five hundred Nekmari in the camp, along with a similar number of...undead." The lieutenant said.

A fierce fervor glowed in James' eyes.

"Are you sure its not a trap?" Captain Seerin asked.

"Yes sir. We've been watching them for long enough to be certain, and we've scouted all around."

"Good strategists seize opportunities...how close can you get us to them?" James asked.

"Commander, we can get you practically on top of them before they know you're there. They picked a bad spot for a camp. It seems they got over-confident."

"Good. Let's make them regret it shall we?" James said, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, as he looked at his officers. "Captain Lorel, marshal your company immediately, and prepare for travel. The rest of you, put your units on standby."

The officers saluted as one, and strode swiftly from the room.

* * *

James stood upon the ridge, overlooking the low valley within which the Nekmari had made their camp. He could see their camp in the distance. He surveyed the forest before them, and knew that within those trees, his forces were steadily approaching the camp from all sides. The Nekmarin sentries had already been silenced, the arrows of elven bows still deadly as ever. They were taking no chances, avoiding magic, or anything else that the enemy may detect prematurely. 

He waited with bated breath, while his forces moved into position. Finally, he spotted it, a flock of sparrows lifting off from the forest on the far side of the valley. That meant the last of his forces had moved into position, and bespoken a few birds to fly up as the signal.

The mission was a joint effort, a unified strike by Falandias and Lathadrin forces.

"All forces are in position sir," supplied the young elf who served as his aide.

James nodded, and lifted the war horn from his belt. He paused then, and looked over at Lieutenant Arolan, who stood nervously beside him.

"It was you who found them," he said, holding the horn out to the young lieutenant. "It's your right to be the one to sound the attack."

The lieutenant looked shocked for a moment, then impossibly proud. With a breath, he lifted the horn to his lips and let loose an echoing blast, signaling the attack.

* * *

Arrows shot from the trees, the focused fire of a dozen handpicked archers, perched high in trees and carefully camouflaged struck first, seeking their priority targets. 

The pair of Necromancers controlling the undead slaves went down instantly, followed moments later by the collapse of the once again inanimate corpses.

More arrows shot out at the same time, seeking the Nekmari warriors wearing the more intricate, more detailed armours. Some missed, but some were successful, and in the vital first moments of the engagement, half the officers of the Nekmari force were killed.

A great shout went up then, as infantry charged from all directions, crying for vengeance for the slaughtered city of Erylandros. Crashing into the surprised, yet quickly recovering Nekmari forces, battle was swiftly engaged in full.

* * *

Aeris Lorel, Captain of the Falandais detail, lead from the front. A fierce cry erupted from her throat, adding to the voices of those around her. In front of her, a Nekmari reached for his sword, setting his feet to receive her charge. Her sword slashed up, severing his arm at the elbow before it could grasp the sword at his hip. Blood spurted out from the wound, splashing across her face, hot against her skin. Another quick move, and her foe's head followed his forearm to the ground, as Lorel pushed past his falling body, blood now drenching her mail vest. 

Around her, screams of agony and pain burst from dying lips, as both sides fought bitterly. Her blade grew heavier and heavier with each passing moment, and her arms grew tired. She felt baleful eyes upon her, and saw what could be nothing but the leader of the Nekmari force approaching, bearing a brutal two handed axe, dripping red with blood. Elven blood.

She managed to deflect the first blow, a wicked overhand swing, but the force of it shattered the bones in her forearm and she fell the ground, crying out in pain. She rolled aside, barely managing to avoid the follow-up swing, but the movement jerked her arm even more, and her vision went white as pain overtook her, and she clenched herself, waiting for the end.

That never came.

Her vision returned, and she saw the Nekmari still standing above her, axe raised to deliver the blow. But the axe fell backwards, slipping from nerveless fingers as the Nekmari stumbled slightly before falling, the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his right eye socket.

She was pulled gently to her feet then, and spun around to face the inspecting eye of the Commander, still holding the bow in his hand.

"You okay Captain?" James asked worriedly, looking her up and down, pausing on her arm.

She nodded briefly, and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off again.

"Yes, well. Go see the healers as soon as possible about that arm," James ordered, before smiling proudly at her. "And well done Captain. As soon as you're checked over, send the word. Let everyone back home know of our victory, they need the morale boost."

Finally realizing just how tired she felt, she caught her breath as she looked around at the carnage around her, in shock over how quickly it had all happened.

The Nekmari had been slain, all of them. Their bodies littered the valley floor.

But far too many elven bodies were intermingled with them. Losses had been high.

The commander seemed to be thinking the same thing, she could tell, as she watched him survey the battleground.

"At least we won," she heard him mutter under his breath, as he moved to join the search for wounded that could yet be saved.

* * *

"What?" Victus bellowed, slamming a fist into the stone table before him so hard it cracked. "That fool...I should have known he'd fail. I will not tolerate incompetence, dammit, they'll have gained morale and strength from their victory, however small it may be." 

"Such a small defeat matters little in the long run Overlord," Galros began. "We can still salvage the attack."

"No," Victus hissed, eyeing his tactical map with a grim purpose. "No, the plan has changed."

Galros raised an eyebrow.

"I'm leaving you in command while I'm absent Galros." Victus said, looking at him.

The Necromancer's eyebrow raised further in question.

"Ready my host," Victus ordered, looking at his subordinates. "I'm leading this attack myself."

* * *

Allia sighed, mind wandering as her force paused for a midday break in its patrol through the far southern reaches of the Falandais lands. 

She had only been scheduled to be there for a month, at most. Now it was passing two months and she still had not been recalled to the city, or better yet, Hogwarts. October had struck, and she was still idling away her days in endless patrols.

Her forces were spread across a wide stretch of forest, encompassing the entire southern border of the elven-controlled and hidden lands.

And in two months, the most exciting moments had been the occasional skirmish with wild troll clans, and the occasional giant, neither of which presented a challenge.

Boredom. That was the greatest enemy they faced on a daily basis, broken only by the dispatches brought by courier bird from Falandais, bringing news of the war. Still, those only came every two weeks, and given one had arrived just the past day, she didn't expect more for some time.

She heaved a sigh, and gestured for her sergeant to pass word to move out. Swinging herself back up into Warwick's saddle, she shivered as a chill northern breeze rustled the leaves that littered the ground.

She pulled her cloak tighter about her, and looked northward. There was nothing there to see of course, just more of the same forests and vales.

The breeze came again, swirling the leaves up into the air before letting them fall once more, and she hunkered down more upon Warwick's back, and signaling him to move out.

For a moment she thought she detected a faint smell of smoke upon the breeze, but she shook it off as her mind playing tricks on her.

Her force continued its south-eastward patrol, as unbeknownst to them, Darkness closed in around them.

* * *

The centaur filly laughed gaily, hair billowing out behind her as she galloped through the forest with her mate pursuing her, close on her heels. Twilight had fallen upon the forests several hours ago, but the moon shone bright that night. 

"You're getting old Carnoth!" She teased, calling back over her shoulder. "A year ago you'd have caught me by now!"

Her laughter echoed behind her as she ducked under low overhanging branches into a shadowed glade.

Carnoth, the veteran Sentinel of the Glendon forest, snorted as he slowed. He knew her game. She'd be waiting just ahead.

"I'm as fit as I've ever been lass. You'll see." He shouted, his voice deep and powerful.

He forced his way through the branches, entering the glade, expecting to see his mate waiting him.

Instead, he found nothing.

Growling deep in his throat, he surveyed the glade, looking for signs of which direction she'd gone. Spinning around, he eyed the darkness around him for clues.

His instinct began to warn him, and he reached a hand to the comforting hilt of his great sword, in its ever-present sheath upon his back. He eyed the darkness suspiciously, a hoof pawing nervously in the dirt.

Suddenly he heard laughter to his right, and he relaxed again, removing his hand from his hilt, and pushing his way back into the forest.

"Dammit girl, you had me worried for a moment there," he said, as he rounded a large rocky outcropping.

A roar of rage and pain ripped from his throat as he saw his mate laying bloody on the ground before him, lifeless eyes staring back at him. His eyes narrowed as he took in the figure standing over her.

"Her hide will make a suitable cloak for my back, centaur," the Nekmari said, still holding the bloody knife that had cut her throat.

Carnoth bellowed an anguish-filled war cry as he ripped his sword from its sheath, intent on avenging his love with a single brutal swing.

His sword cleared the scabbard, but he never managed to raise it high enough to strike.

He caught a flicker of motion above him and realized he'd fallen prey to the same trick that had killed his love.

The Nekmarin dropped silently from the rocks above, sword slashing out as he landed, too close for the surprised centaur to react in time.

Blood gurgled in Carnoth's throat as his legs gave way beneath him, and he felt hot blood running down his chest.

The last thing he heard before his world faded away was the bastard who'd killed him speak quietly to its companion.

"This sector's clear. We're almost to the city. Send word to the Overlord; the Host can advance. Tonight, the city shall be burn. Tonight, the black flames will shroud the land in shadow.

The moon, which had shone bright in the night sky, was slowly blocked as dark clouds, unnatural clouds, invaded the sky, blocking out the light.

* * *

Evelyn woke to screams, and the thick smell of smoke in the air as her father pulled her from her bed. 

"Move child, there is no time," Feadir said, urging her to hurry.

"What's going on Father?" She demanded, confused and afraid. "Where are we going? Where's mother?"

"They're here, the enemy. Our forces are holding them off, but not for long. We're going to the Temple. I can open a gate there...I hope. The King has ordered as many to be evacuated as possible. Your mother is helping at the front, healing the injured so they can rejoin the fight."

"What about him? Are they coming?" She asked, as her father dragged her along.

"This is the King's city...he dies with it," Feadir whispered silently.

They emerged outside to smoke and screams, as countless non-combatants made their way to the Temple, while lines of armed elves ran the other way, hurrying to reinforce the front lines.

Feadir pushed his way through the crowd outside the Temple, hurrying in as other priests attempted to control the flood of people into the sanctuary the Temple offered. It was heavily warded by powerful holy spells, and would repel invaders for at least a while.

Feadir only hoped it would be long enough.

They reached the center of the Temple grounds, and Feadir stopped, kneeling next to his daughter and hugging her close.

"I love you child, more then anything, always remember that," He said, tears in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Father, no, come with us, please," Evelyn cried, tears falling down her cheeks.

Feadir shook his head sadly, looking at her with pity. "I can't love. I'm the only one here who may have a chance at piercing their shields and getting a gate open. I must stay here, to hold it open as long as I can."

Feadir rose then, looking at the growing crowd of evacuees hoping to escape. He breathed deeply, and looked at his daughter one last time.

"Your uncle will look after you. I love you my daughter, live well."

Feadir looked away then, unable to stand the pain and tears in his daughters eyes. Shouldering himself, he stretched forth his arms, tapping into the power stored within the temple, gathering far more then he had ever tried before. He would need all he could to pierce the Nekmarin shields.

"Please, by the Light," he whispered silently, his eyes beginning to glow as the power suffused him. "Grant me the strength to save our people."

He felt this power thrust outward, before rebounding upon the blocks erected by Nekmarin magi. He steeled himself once more, and thrust harder, and felt the shields give way, and the Gate opened, revealing the moonlit castle of Hogwarts in the distance.

"Go now," he cried, his voice deep and echoing. "Escape, and know that the Light goes with you."

The Temple's Honour Guards began to usher people through, and Evelyn found herself pushed along by the throng.

Her last view of her Father was of him standing motionless, shimmering in power.

* * *

The King sat silently upon his throne, his Queen remaining beside him to the end. He clenched a fist in anger at the injustice of it all as he heard the screams and sounds of battle growing steadily closer, as the tide of battle turned against his forces. 

Sighing quietly, he held his crown in his hands, looking at the reflection of his face in the gleaming metal.

So much death...his city, burning. How had it all come to this.

He looked over at his wife, and she just smiled sadly at him, nodding softly.

His eyes rose, to where the Captain of his Royal Guard stood silently before him, the Royal Guard still standing at attention around the room.

"Go," the King ordered quietly. "This is my final order. All of you are to escape the city. Get to the Temple and escape. Pass the order to all those still fighting. Any who can escape should do so."

"M'lord, my duty is to your protection, I cannot abandon-" the captain began.

"GO!" The King yelled, looking at the captain with grieving eyes. "Enough of our people have died this night. Any who can escape should."

"Then we can take you with us."

He shook his head.

"No. I belong to this city as much as it belongs to me. If it is to die, then so am I. This is my decision Captain. There will be no further discussion. Carry my words to Commander Caldarain. Tell him...tell him all our hopes now rest with him. May the Light be with him always."

The captain saluted, and strode from the room without a backward glance, the members of his regiment falling in behind him.

The king sat back quietly in his throne, gently laying his crown upon the arm, as he waited for the inevitable. He was too old to fight, too proud to flee.

When the Nekmarin infantry broke down the heavy wooden doors to the Throne Room, they found the King and Queen of Falandais waiting for them silently.

Shortly after, the crown of the king fell to the floor, rolling through a growing pool of blood.

* * *

Feadir felt the Nekmari magics testing the wards around the Temple, as he felt the power fluctuate around him. Holding strong, he kept the gate open, as the last of the evacuees fled through it. 

He released the power holding the gate then, pushing what remained back into the wards, holding them up as long as he could, stalling the enemy.

He held the wards about the Temple for over thirty minutes, as the city burned around it, but eventually, he faltered, and the Nekmari stormed in through the Temple gates as the wards fell.

He fell to his knees, weak and exhausted from his efforts, ignoring the approaching Nekmari. His death meant nothing. He had succeeded in his task.

* * *

Evelyn sat on her bed in Hogwarts in a daze. It had been a week now. A week since her father had died. A week in which no sign of her mother was found. She was alone. 

Oh sure, her uncle and aunt were looking after her. But they still grieved for their own losses.

There had been so much death.

But this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. In the stories, the good guys never lost. They won. They always won...but as she was rapidly coming to understand, life was no story. There would be no White Knight, come to save the day. Such a thing was only in tales. This was the real world, and the real world was now a bitter place, full of darkness and loss.

She sniffled, hugging knees to her chest tightly. Her mother had been pregnant...she was going to have a baby brother...but no longer. Her mother was dead. Her father was dead. Her cousin was dead. Allia was no doubt dead. Her uncle had sent scouts to ascertain the status of her, and her entire force. All that was found was a valley where battle had no doubt taken place. The ground had been stained red with blood. There had been no bodies...but there rarely were given Nekmari...practices.

She burst into tears, burying her face in her pillow, arms reaching under the pillow to hug it to her face.

She cried for a good five minutes before she felt something odd beneath her pillow.

Sniffling still, she sat up, and moved her pillow aside, and gasped.

It wasn't possible. It had been in her drawer back home. She knew it had.

Yet there it sat, looking just as she'd left it. The riddle book.

She opened it, hoping to distract herself from the pain of the world, and read the newest riddle, that she had not stopped to read last time she solved one.

_Even in the darkest hour_

_I remain._

_When no light can be found_

_I remain._

_I exist within you, giving strength._

_Hold me tight,_

_and have Faith in the Light._

She sniffled softly, thinking for a moment, before answering, as a single tear ran down her cheek.

"Hope."

The book seemed to shimmer, glowing brighter then before, as the page turned once more. She didn't know how, but she was somehow certain that she had reached the last page, the last riddle.

Her eyes traced the words that seemed a cruel mockery.

_A great power lies dormant,_

_you must speak the key._

_What holds back the shadows,_

_and keeps the light free?_

"The Light," she answered at once, looking expectantly at the book.

Nothing happened.

"Elves" she said next, but still nothing happened.

Growing frustrated, she spoke the only thing left she could think of, certain it would work.

"The Chosen of the Light."

Nothing.

Shrieking in frustration and grief, she fled the room.

* * *

Another week passed before Evelyn picked up the riddle book once more. Another week of grief. Another week of scrambling elven forces attempting to hold back the Nekmari advance on the mainland. She was sitting in the common room in the elven wing of the castle, which served as a sort of living room for her uncle and aunt, herself, and their friends. 

She looked up from the book, where she'd been staring at the riddle, re-reading it repeatedly, to where they sat by the fire.

Her uncle sat staring into the flames, lost in thought. Her aunt sat nearby looking at him worriedly. Opposite them, Sirius and Remus whispered quietly too each other, having stopped by to visit earlier on. They'd taken great care to try and make her feel better, and she appreciated their efforts to no end.

Deciding to ask for help, she took the book and walked over to where her aunt sat, who looked up at her approach.

"Yes Evelyn?" Lily asked, smiling faintly.

"Can you help me with this riddle?" Evelyn asked, handing her aunt the book.

"Sure," was Lily's response as she took the book, glad for a distraction. Moments later, Sirius and Remus joined them, as Lily read the riddle aloud.

"Well, I think the answer would be fairly obvious-" Lily began, but was interrupted.

"Nope," Evelyn said, shaking her head. "I've already tried that, believe me."

Lily nodded slowly, before looking back down at the riddle in deep thought.

Evelyn sighed, sitting down on the couch next to her uncle as she waited. She looked at him, as he continued to stare mindlessly into the flames. Following his gaze, she found herself soon entranced as he was, watching the dancing flames.

Vaguely she heard the others spouting various answers to the riddle, none of which were right it seemed, given the lack of response by the book.

She sighed lightly, looking away from the flames, to the dancing shadows on the walls, broken only by the light of the torches that burned in sconces around the room.

Her eyes seemed to move on their own to one of the flames, watching as it burned brightly, the shadows receding on the wall around it.

"The flames," she whispered, suddenly understanding the riddle. She'd taken it to refer to something complex and important, but it was in fact a simple riddle, with a simple answer.

"What?" Lily asked, looking up at her.

"The flames," she said, pointing at the torches. "The flames hold back the shadows, and keeps the light free."

Sudden light flared forth from the book, almost blinding in its brightness. A single beam of pure light shot from the book, striking the ceiling directly above them. From that point, a web of light seemed to spread swiftly across the room, and as far as they could tell, beyond.

This seemed to jolt her uncle into action, as he rose suddenly in shock, hand instinctively going for a weapon.

A resonating hum seemed to echo from the very stones themselves and a softer, golden light emerged from the book.

The hum increased, as the golden light grew denser.

"What holds back the Shadows?" a soft, feminine voice suddenly whispered, echoing eerily off the walls. "What keeps the Light free?"

Evelyn's throat felt dry as she whispered back her answer once more.

"The flames."

The humming ceased suddenly, as the golden light flared up, before fading away, revealing the ghostly apparition of an elven woman, who's figure rapidly seemed to solidify, though not completely.

"The Flames hold back the Shadows," The woman's voice was stronger now, one that grew steadily stronger as her words came. "The Flames keep the Light free."

Her eyes flared briefly, as though something within her acknowledged the words.

"It is done," she stated, as she looked at those present in the room.

"What is done?" James demanded, holding a weapon ready. "Who are you. What are you?"

She looked at him silently for a moment, before giving a reassuring smile.

"Dalandrin has awoken. I detect no sign of the Lord of the Castle within these walls, nor do I detect the High King. Who commands here?"

James seemed stunned at her words, but managed to blurt out an answer.

"I do, but what are you? How...what?" He stuttered, completely confused.

"I sense no lie within your words. Very well, you are hereby named Lord Commander of Dalandrin, your rank second only to the true Lord of the Castle, or the High King, should either return to claim me." She paused. "As for what I am, I _am _Dalandrin, given sentience by the will of the High King. I am the Avatar of the Castle."

She paused, before suddenly standing at attention.

"Lord Commander, requesting permission to implement my primary objective, as written by the High King," she said formally, looking at him expectantly.

"What...what is that?" James asked.

"The preparation of this Castle for war," she replied.

"Very well...permission granted, perform your objective," James said, somewhat nervously. He wasn't sure why he felt so trusting of her...but it just felt right.

"Very well," the avatar said. "The Caerdynin caves have now been opened. Transporting populace now."

"Wait wha-" James never had a chance to finish his words before he found himself standing in the mouth of a large cave, in the mountains overlooking the castle. Looking behind him, he could see a massive cavern, with more then a few tunnels leading off from it. Judging by the number of people within just the cavern he could see, he knew almost instantly that every person within the castle, and the camps on the grounds, was now in the caves there somewhere.

"What have you done?" James cried, turning back to the avatar, or whatever she was. "Why have you brought us here?"

"My task could not be completed with inhabitants within the castle walls."

"What is your task?" James demanded, wishing now he'd asked beforehand.

The female looked at him briefly, and smiled..

"The destruction of this castle."

* * *

Not far back from the mouth of the cave, amongst a shocked and confused crowd, one individual was significantly less surprised then his fellows on what was going on around him. He understood what was happening. 

It was what they had waited for. Watched for. Hoped for. Finally, what had been long expected was coming to pass. His people's time was nigh. He would need to send a message to them as soon as possible. The ancient tunnels could be re-opened, ancient ways restored. Soon, they would be needed. Soon, paths that had not been travelled in aeons would resound with the cadence of marching boots.

He smiled eagerly. They had done their part. The seed had been planted, as per their promise. They had prepared the way. Soon now, their allies would seize the rewards. Soon, the call to arms would echo in the mountains.

* * *

"NO!" James cried, as he tried to force his way past, but found himself blocked by an invisible wall hard as stone. 

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to interfere. The castle must be destroyed. My orders are clear," she turned then, and stared at the castle for a long moment.

James watched, horrified at his own foolishness. He should have known better. Of course it had been a Nekmari trick, a weapon planted to destroy their enemies defenses. He'd just given them the castle to destroy.

He watched in horror as smoke began to billow skyward. As golden flames spread across the castle, consuming even the stone itself. He stood, hardly able to breath as the North Tower collapsed, crashing through the ceiling of the Great Hall in a shower of rock and dust.

He watched numbly as hope died.

She turned around then, staring at him silently, before waving a hand slightly in front of her.

Before him, the invisible wall that had blocked his passage became visible, becoming a mass of solid stone that sealed the entry to the caverns, locking them within, blocking off their sight of the castle.

James could only pound his fists futilely against the rock while outside, Hogwarts Castle, which had stood for a millennia, was consumed by the flames and crumbled slowly to the ground.

* * *

-AN: So, coming in at somewhere just under 8000 words (almost but not quite doubling the current length of this fic), this is now the longest chapter I've ever written. Hope you enjoyed it, sorry as always for the delay. Writing takes second fiddle to my schoolwork. 


	5. The Waking Hour

'_Never underestimate the power of the soul unleashed.'_

**Chapter 4: The Waking** **Hour**

Light.

Blinding. Suffocating. Enveloping.

He felt light...incorporeal. He was...floating, amidst an ocean of shimmering white.

He looked down, and his eyes widened at the gaping wound in his chest. He touched it tentatively...and felt nothing. Even the blood gathered around the wound appeared...frozen.

"What happened?" He asked aloud, his voice hoarse and raw.

"You died," came a voice from behind him, and he spun. He closed his eyes in disbelief, but upon opening them, she was still there. "We died."

"Gin?" He rasped, trying to clear his throat. "Wha-where?"

She moved closer, seeming to glide effortlessly in the air. Smiling sadly, she reached up and gently stroked his cheek, before looking around slowly.

"This is heaven...I think," she said softly. "We're dead, and this...this is the afterlife."

A moment passed in silence.

"Then I have failed," Harry said at last, looking around. "I failed to protect you, I failed to protect our people...I failed to protect our world."

"No, no, you didn't fail me love," she reassured him, "You've never failed me. We're together, at least, and that's all that matters."

"This is not heaven, and you have not died," interupted a kind, yet firm male voice from behind them. They whirled around to see a figure emerging from the mists, striding upon the surface of the air as though it were solid stone. The figure stopped, a faint, wry smile upon his face. "Well, not exactly."

"Nor have you failed," came another voice, this one female, as another figure emerged from the mists to stand beside the first. This one smiled at them in a motherly way, eyes full of love and caring.

"What are you talking about? How did we 'not exactly' die? Who are you? What's going on? Where are we?" Harry blurted out the questions in rapid succession.

"Which would you like answered first?" The male asked, eyes twinkling with humour.

"Go in order please," Ginny inserted, looking nervously at them.

"In order? Very well," he replied, nodding slowly, before looking at his companion. "Atara?"

The female, Atara evidently, inclined her head briefly, before speaking.

"Tell me child," she said, addressing Harry. "How can you fail when you do not know your task?"

"What?" Harry asked in confusion.

"You say you have failed. Yet how do you know you failed?" She asked gently.

"Well, I just thought-"

"Moving on though," She said, smiling faintly. "You have not died. Not exactly. When an elf dies, their soul moves on to another plane of existence."

She looked around for a moment, then looked them both in the eye one at a time.

"This is not that plane. Here, time has long been powerless. For an age, this place has remained inviolate, still and silent. Waiting. You have not died. While your bodies are not exactly...whole," she said, gesturing briefly Harry's wounds. "Your souls had not yet passed beyond when we brought them here...stole them you could say."

"You stole our souls?" Ginny cried in shock.

Atara laughed. "Well, yes, in a way. We intercepted them before they were out of reach, and re-routed them. Although I must admit, I was somewhat surprised to get both of you."

Her companion laughed, and looked at her in a loving sort of way. "It is entirely your fault you know."

Atara sighed, looking up at him briefly, and giving a fake smile. "Yes, thank you Adaron dear. I did realize that."

"Wait," Harry said, butting into their little conversation. "If we're not dead...you can send us back right? I can't leave them, I need to go back."

Adaron looked at him, and smiled. "That is a noble wish child, but no. When you return to the physical plane, your wounds will be real once more. Were we to return you now, one of two things would happen. Either you would bleed away you're the rest life before help could come, or, if by some very lucky chance you could be healed in time, you would rejoin the fight against your enemies-"

"Exactly! You must let me return, they need me, I must help them!" Harry exclaimed.

Adaron looked at him sadly, shaking his head. "You would rejoin the fight, but it would do no good. Your aid as you are now would not be enough to turn the tide. You would lose. You would lose and you would die, and so would everything else you care about."

Harry paled, and looked downcast, dejected.

"But there is another way," Atara continued, and Harry looked up again.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, her hand reaching for Harry's and gripping it tightly.

"There are those who could heal your wounds with ease. Those who could turn the tide," Adaron said, and his voice took on a deeper, stronger sound. "However, there is a price to be paid for their aid."

"What price?" Harry asked.

"You," Atara said simply.

"What?" Harry and Ginny both said together.

"It is the sacrifice you must make. You are the price. Accept, and they shall fight." Adaron said fiercely.

"And if I did this...they would help my people? Help my world?" Harry asked softly, while Ginny looked on in horror.

"They would."

"Then I am willing. If my death shall save our people, I am willing," Harry said, and he lowered his head, waiting.

Laughter from the two caused him to look up in surprise.

"You are willing to sacrifice yourself for your people," Atara said, eyes twinkling. "But are you willing to fight for them? It is your life that is required, not your death. It will not be easy, but your willingness to sacrifice shows you have the will to accomplish what needs to be done. Thus, your first task is completed, your will the key. Now you have a greater task. You were brought here for a reason. That reason lies before you.

Harry looked confused, as the two started to recede back into the mists, fading slowly from view. Around them, the mists themselves recoiled, and the air beneath them grew solid.

Adaron's voice echoed back before they faded completely.

"Your breath to awaken the sleepers."

As his words faded into nothing, the mists around them receded fully, revealing white marble beneath their feets, and far above them, whitish fog marked the edge of this...place, replacing the sky.

Yet it was not the sky above their heads, or lack thereof, that caused Harry to cry out in shock, and hope.

It was not the shining marble, or the immense horn that sat a few feet away, or the jagged mountain peak that loomed over them, dwarfing the tower on which they stood.

It was not the descending mountain ranges that spread from the peak behind them, at a natural ninety degree angle to each other, each stretching far into the distance. Each range was like a natural wall, completely unclimbable from the other side.

It was what lay between, and beyond, that caused Harry's eyes to tear.

"Harry, where-?" Ginny asked, eyes wide as she took in what lay before them.

He swallowed once, then again, still not believing what his eyes were telling him.

"We-we stand upon Ilthandar, the Tower of the Dawn. This...this is Caerdara, the City of Light. The Capital City of the High Kingdom. It was from here that the High King ruled over all of Elvendom."

Below them, sheltered between the arms of the mountain ranges, stretched forth the city. Protected by inner walls that arced between the mountain ranges, the city was divided into vast sections.

Directly beneath them sat the Royal Palace, a great edifice of stone and wood, and the Palace grounds, a vast network of forest, field and garden. A series of smaller buildings radiated outward from the central palace. The tower on which they stood drove up from where Palace met mountain. Yet there was no one visible.

Next came a wall, ten foot high and quite solid, and beyond, the first district of the city. Central in this district was the High Temple of the Light, and its grounds. Also within this ring were countless homes and manors of noble families and lords, as well as several large marketplaces and parks, open to all, yet completely devoid of any signs of life.

Next was the military ring. Here, countless soldiers and mages were trained and barracked. Here too stood the Collegium, the finest specialist and officer training academy in all of the elven lands. All the marshalling yards, the drilling fields, the training grounds...empty, lifeless.

The next ring was in some ways the heart of the city, the largest of the rings, and where the vast majority of the citizens lived. Their homes built along boulevards lined with tall, broad trees, and amidst parks full of huge trees that sheltered entire neighbourhoods under, and amongst, their great boughs. Many smaller temples were spread throughout the district, as well as many marketplaces, for those not wanting to make the trek deeper into the city. And yet here too, there was no sign of life. The trees themselves stood motionless, not a breath of wind rustling their leaves.

Then came the final wall. This loomed over the buildings near it, over twenty-five feet wide, and three times as tall. Stretching over a mile, it arced between the mountain ranges at the points where they began to become less impregnable.

"Over half a million elves called this city home, not counting its standing garrison and trainees," Harry said softly, in awe at the magnificent sight.

"Then...where are they?" Ginny asked, worriedly.

"I don't know where the citizens are, perhaps inside their homes," Harry began slowly, eyes locking on a point beyond the outer walls. "But I think I see the armies."

Ginny followed his gaze, and gasped.

Beyond the outer walls was a wide plain, stretching over a league before a great forest stood. There, upon the grassy plains, stood the might of the Elven Legions.

Still as statues, rank upon rank they stood, in perfect formations. Armours and weapons still gleaming, war banners hanging limp in the still air, their arms and colours hidden.

"There's so many," Ginny said in awe, gazing at the seemingly endless ocean of elves that filled the plains below.

Harry could only nod.

"But, why aren't they moving? What's going on?" Ginny asked.

Harry swallowed, looking around slowly. The stillness of the air, the motionless city, and the great, curved horn that stood mounted upon the tower behind them. The final words Adaron had spoken rang in his mind.

"My breath to awaken the sleepers," he said quietly.

"What?" Ginny questioned, following his gaze.

"They are asleep," he whispered, looking over at her in sudden realization. "That's what happened, what caused the Vanishing...they came...here. I don't know why but...they are here, they have been here...frozen in time, for seven _thousand _years."

He strode towards the horn, his hand faintly tracing the carvings and designs upon it as he moved around it, to the mouthpiece.

He looked over at her again, uncertainty evident on his eyes, and she nodded softly, reassuring him.

"Well, here goes," he muttered, shrugging slightly. Inhaling deeply, he put his mouth to the mouthpiece and blew.

A moment passed before Ginny broke the silence,

"I think it's broken."

He looked at her confused, then shrugged again. He knew how to blow a horn, so it wasn't that...by all rights it _should _have made noise.

Suddenly, he stiffened, as he felt a faint breeze blow past, the first sign of any air movement since they'd arrived. Looking around quickly, he moved back to the edge of the tower, looking out over the city once more.

It came from below, from the heart of the tower, as though the horn he had winded had been but a trigger for another deeper within the tower. As though someone else had heard something he had not, and was responding. A low, resounding thrum that built up as it spread, echoing from the mountains, growing louder and louder as it spread through the city like a wave.

Faintly, amidst the echoing resonance of the sound, Harry could swear he heard a voice whispering in the air.

"_Awaken,"_ the voice urged, swirling round his head, and he felt a sudden lightening of his spirit, felt more energised, as though the magic effected even him. _"Awaken, my warriors, my people. Long have we slept, awaiting the foreseen time when we would be needed once more. That time has come. Awake, and shake the palsy from your limbs, the sleep from your minds. Awake, and resume your duties. Awake, and prepare, for our hour is nigh_."

Harry and Ginny watched silently as, far in the distance, the armies on the field began to move, stirring faintly as they slowly returned to wakefulness.

"Look," Ginny said, pointing far below them, to where a single robed figure strode from the Palace, to stand in the centre of the wide courtyard directly in front of it. A simple wooden staff was held within the figure's hands. Moments later, the pair felt a strange power suffusing the air around them, as the figure below pointed its staff upwards, towards them, somehow knowing them to be there.

Moments later, they stood on the ground below. Directly before them stood the elf, wearing fine robes with an intricate blue and gold pattern upon them. The elves' eyes took them in slowly, studying them, and they studied him in turn. He was taller then they, and older, stern looking. What struck them most though was the pale silvery-blue tattoo of an eight pointed star that shimmered upon his right cheek, one of the points cutting across his eye just touching to his forehead. It gave him a very mysterious and regal look.

He looked them over for a moment, shaking his head slightly.

"So, this is what they give us is it?" He murmured, more to himself then to them, but obviously meant for them to overhear. They got the strange feeling he was speaking a language they did not know, but somehow, through some magic, understood. "Hmm...not much to look at. I fail to see what makes you so special, but that's not my place to decide, I have my orders."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, somewhat offended. "Who are you?"

The elf looked somewhat disinterested in the whole thing, but answered.

"I am Lord Valan, First Chancellor to the High King, Duke of the Airne Marches, and Royal Battlemage. I am also your transportation." The elf responded, in a dignified air.

"Transportation?" Ginny asked shyly, somewhat in awe of his titles. "To where?"

He looked at her sharply, almost confused for a moment, before answering.

"You should be honoured. The High King has decided that you are to be trained in our ways. However, we have neither the time, nor the teachers to spare for such a task now. So, it has been decided to send you to where we can train you. I've little time, so I must prepare you quickly."

He paused for a moment, studying them again.

"Where we are sending you, is right back where you came from," he said, before pausing for a moment, smirking slightly. "When however, is, by your year, a very long time into the past."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, then understanding. It was so great an opportunity...to train in the glory days of his people, he could scarcely believe it.

"However, I can't send you like that, there can be no chance of your likenesses being recorded, and remembered," Valan said, before lifting a hand in front of him, and making a slight gesture. "There. Your scar was too noticeable," he said, pointing at Harry, "and your hair too unique, for there are few of our people with such a colour," he continued, gesturing to Ginny.

Harry's scar faded, and Ginny's hair slowly turned a dark, rich brown. Harry's hair as well slowly lightened, settling at a golden blond. He scowled darkly, as Ginny snickered at his discomfort.

"That should be enough, appearance wise. As for names, obviously you cannot use your own, so you must come up with others." Valan said urgently, evidently getting impatient. "I'll let you decide on your own, when you arrive."

Harry opened his mouth, intending to question it all, but the Mage silenced him with a gesture.

"There is no time. Your questions will have to go unanswered. Now the High King has asked me to stress unto you one simple fact, that you must always remember. It is vital."

"What?" Harry asked, feeling completely overwhelmed by everything that was being thrown at him.

Valan looked at them seriously, making sure he had their complete attention.

"Never forget, no matter what happens, **you cannot change the future**" He said, emphasising his words heavily. "Do you understand me? Nothing you do can endanger what will happen, what has happened. Under no circumstances can you alter what will come to pass."

Harry and Ginny both nodded, but Valan was not finished.

"Do you understand?" He demanded, "it is vitally important."

"Yes, yes, we understand." Harry said a bit uncomfortably, "we won't change the future, I give you my word."

Valan sighed, but from relief or stress Harry couldn't tell.

"Very well," The mage said, as he began to trace intricate designs into the air in front of them with his staff. "Then there is nothing left to do but send you off. It may take me a moment, I need to draw on the power of some others to cast the spell."

Harry and Ginny watched silently as he muttered to himself for a few moments, and power began to suffuse the air around them. A fierce wind picked up, swirling around them, threatening to force them from their feet.

"Wait," Harry said quickly, a sudden question popping into his head. "How will we get back?"

The winds howled around them, and the suddenly found themselves whipped off their feet, as an impossible amount of power surged around them when Valan triggered the spell. His eyes opened before them, glowing a pale blue, the tattoo on his cheek shining with power, as his voice whispered in their heads as they were pulled away, and everything around them faded.

"You won't," came the mage's voice, soft and somewhat guilt-ridden. "This is a one way trip."

* * *

Valan stumbled, clutching his staff for support as complete exhaustion swept over him. The sheer power demand of such a spell left him drained and barely able to remain on his feet. 

He looked up, as the great doors to the Palace opened, and a number of elves strode forth. Foremost amongst them however were the pair who led them, each bearing a golden crown upon their brows.

"Your Majesties, it is done," Valan said weakly, smiling faintly. "Although I do wish you hadn't forced me to be such a pretentious fool."

The High King laughed, a rich warm sound, and his Queen smiled beside him.

"You understand the reasoning for it. " she said, her tone clearly showing her amusement. "Getting to the point though, what did you think?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "They were- not what I expected, to say the least. Which, I suppose, made the act easier."

He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before continuing, addressing this time his king.

"Still, I think it will be a most...interesting experience for them, wouldn't you say, my Sindalion?"

The High King smiled, and nodded.

"They have no idea what lies before them," he said, his voice deep and strong. "Which is as it should be."

They stood in silence, the sounds of a city slowly coming to life growing in the air around them.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry for the delay, I moved a month ago, and didnt have internet for a few weeks, then wasn't able to log in at all til today to upload. I know, its somewhat short, but it was the logical place to end the chapter. 

And hey...at least I let them live. (for now)


	6. Battered, Broken, Alive

"_Nothing burns hotter than the fires of holy rage"_

**Chapter 5:** **Battered, Broken, Alive**

Thundering hooves assaulted Ginny's ears, as the ground itself rumbled in cadence to the sound. She was on the ground next to the smoldering remains of a wagon, burned wood and ash littering the ground around her, still smoldering and hot. All around her, smoke billowed upwards, as the sounds of battle raged around her.

Cringing in fright, she ducked low, searching with watering eyes for signs of Harry. She began to panic as she could see no sign of him. Suddenly she heard a low moan from within the still smoking remains of the wagon, and she frantically tried to push aside the burning beams, finally managing to uncover her beloved. The fires had burned away the crossbow bolts that had penetrated his body in several places, but the vicious wounds left by them still glared evilly at her.

She became even more frantic as she saw his wounds had opened once more, bleeding once more. The wounds didn't seem as severe, as life-threatening as they once had, as though they had been partially healed. Still, without aid, and soon, he'd either burn to death, or bleed away his life. Struggling, she put all her weight into it and managed to pull him from the burning wreck, but could only stare in unthinking shock, not knowing the first thing on how to help him. The pain of his wounds echoed through their bond, further disorienting her.

"Do not move, human,' a fierce voice declared from above her. "Or I will spear you where you kneel."

She looked up slowly, and inhaled sharply in fear and panic.

The tip of a spear was pointed directly at her, not more then a foot from her heart. The figure that held the spear was mounted upon an armoured black steed, and she shivered in fear as its great hooves pawed the ground in front of her, no doubt wishing to crush her beneath them. The figure itself was encased in a dark, cruel coloured metal suit of armour.

Terror welled up within her as she began to see the baleful red eyes staring down at her, the twisted, cruel grin that spread across the figures face. Her eyes drifted beyond him, and she felt the terror grow even greater as she saw other similarly clad figures riding down fleeing people.

"Please," she begged, as everything just seemed to overwhelm her, and her fear and terror took over. "please, don't kill us. We didn't do anything!"

The shock of the butchery going on before her and the bleeding body of her love beside her made her shiver, and her hair fell over her face. Without thinking, she pushed it back, tucking it behind a pointed ear.

The great beast before her suddenly reared up as its rider pulled back on the reins suddenly, and Ginny let out a scream of fright, and shrank backwards, as the rider pulled back his spear suddenly to strike.

"Foul spy," he roared, shifting his grip slightly, and preparing to thrust. "Do not think to fool us with such cheap tricks,"

She threw up her arms in an effort to ward off the blow, shutting her eyes tightly in anticipation. Just as she expected the blow to come, she heard another voice call out.

"Captain, stay your hand," a firm voice called, in the tone of one used to having their orders obeyed.

Ginny opened her eyes and slowly lowered her arms, looking up to see her assailant look back over his shoulder.

"But my Prince-"

"That was not a request Captain," came the second voice once more, nearer this time. "Lower your weapon."

A second figure rode up beside the first, but this one was clad in much different armour. This was a brilliant shining suit, inlaid with gold. Upon his head rested a intricately wrought helm of the same metal, with flowing golden lines giving it a very regal, noble look. A large shield rested against him, bearing a symbol of a golden sword upon a red field. However, it was the face of this one that shocked and confused her.

For this was an elf, of that there could be no question.

Blinking in confusion, she looked back at the first figure and looked closer. Her eyes rose higher, and she gasped in surprise as she saw the horn upon the steed's head. This was no dark, evil creature that wished to crush her beneath its horns, it was a war unicorn. Its rider lifted away his spear, planting the butt against the ground with one hand, while the other pushed back his mail coif.

She was shocked to see that this too was an elf. Her terror, her fear, must have had her imagining the dreadful face of a Nekmari, pieced together from the flashed of images she had seen, and felt, through her connection to her love.

"My Prince, surely you must not think this is anything but another foolish attempt by those 'Marin bastards to sneak a spy into our midst," the first elf said again, still eyeing her suspiciously.

"It may be Captain," came the response from the second, "but if you were wrong, you would have just speared one of my father's people, our people." This elf looked at her long and hard, before shaking his head. "I cannot tell."

He turned then, and shouted something she couldn't quite make out, as sudden relief, knowledge that these weren't enemies, struck her almost as hard as her fear had, and she swayed, dizzy and confused.

A moment later, an older elf rode over, and this one took one look at her and immediately dismounted, kneeling beside her, and supporting her.

"What is wrong with you my Prince?" This elf demanded, looking back at him in shock. "She's almost delirious from shock and pain, and you simply sit there?"

"Aravas here thinks she's a Nekmari, under illusion," came the response, now tinged with a hint of worry.

Ginny felt a hand gently lift her chin, and saw the eyes of the elf before her seemed to un-focus for a moment.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said a moment later, looking at her reassuringly. "She's no more a 'Marin then you are."

He looked her over for a moment, as the two elves behind him dismounted, and approached. Suddenly, his eyes locked on something beside her, and he quickly moved past her.

"By the Light," he gasped, surveying the wounds on the girl's companion with disbelief. "With wounds like these, he should be dead,"

"No!" Ginny cried, and threw herself towards the prone body, only to be caught in the gentle, but restraining hands of the one called the Prince.

"Relax lass," his voice whispered in her ear as he held her back. "Healer Menas can help, but only if you don't get in his way."

The older elf looked over the wounds before him, and settled on the largest, and most urgent. He stretched his hands out over the wound, and began to hum softly, stretching his healing magic forth towards the wound.

Ginny suddenly felt pain wrack her body, as Harry's body reacted violently to the attempted healing. She moaned loudly, and the healer looked back at her in shock, then looked back at the form below him, then back at her again.

"Atara bless us, they're bonded," he exclaimed. "She's feeling his pain."

The response was swift, as the grip on her tightened, the elf holding her attempting to comfort her, speaking to her again.

"Shut it down miss," he urged her, "block it out before it overwhelms you and kills you."

"NO-" Menas cried, "no, as much as I hate to say it, we can use it. I can use her reactions to judge what the problems are."

The Prince looked unsure, before nodding once.

Turning back, Menas tried once more, using a somewhat different approach with his magic, and got the same reaction, from both the patient and the bonded.

Suddenly, the healer was struck with a grim hunch, and quickly directed his attention to one of the other wounds, the dark, round wound on his leg, that looked suspiciously like an arrow wound. He prodded the wound gently, before reaching out to it with his magic.

The moment it touched, he pulled back, recoiling in revulsion.

"Atara preserve us, he has Vveriss in him!" He cried out, and immediately scrambled to his feet, and rummaging through the pack on his mounts back.

"What are you doing?" Aravas demanded, looking down at the elf on the ground in sudden sympathy.

"I have to stabilize him, and induce a coma. I can't do anything about that poison here, we need to get him to Dalandrin immediately, if there is to be any chance of his survival." He said quickly, returning to the still form with an armful of bandages, and a few small vials.

"Aravas, help me. I'm going to have to force his body to go into complete shock, and then I should be able to induce a coma with these supplies. Once I do Aravas, bandage the wounds as best as you can, to reduce blood-loss. That should slow the poison, and keep him alive long enough to get him moved."

"Is there anything I can do?" The Prince asked, looking concerned, but not letting go his grip on Ginny's arms, pining them to her body.

The healer nodded, looking sadly at the frantically struggling girl.

"The only way to induce the shock I need is through a massive jolt of pain. Unfortunately, due to their bond-"

"She'll feel it too," the Prince finished, nodding in understanding. "Do it, I've got her."

The healer nodded, and, mustering himself, he reached out again with his power.

Moments later, Ginny let out a terrible, agonized scream, and, as the elf clutching her whispered reassurances into her ear, she passed out into blissful numbness.

* * *

Ginny drifted slowly to consciousness, aware of a heated argument being engaged in the room nearby.

"What were you thinking Aravas?" A stern voice demanded, anger evident in his tone. "You almost cost the boy his life, and hers along with him."

"Do not judge him too harshly Andor, he made a mistake-" came a voice she recognized, the strong, firm voice of the one called the Prince.

"A mistake?" A disbelieving voice exclaimed. "A mistake? I was trying to protect you, your Highness. They've done it before, surely you haven't forgotten."

"You go too far Captain," came the Prince's reply, his tone quickly taking on a harsh, unforgiving quality. "You dare ask me such a thing?"

"My lord, I only meant-"

"Because I assure you, I have not forgotten. I was there too, lest you forget. I watched as that murdering bastard killed my sister. I watched as he kidnapped my younger brother, escaping before any of the Guard could respond. I know all too well what they are capable of, for I _saw _the results of that too, when two moons later, on the date we should have been celebrating his birth, they delivered to us his severed wings in a bloody crate," the prince spat with such anger and suppressed bitterness that shocked Ginny into full wakefulness, though she feigned sleep, wanting to hear more.

"Both of you, that is enough. It is past now, there is nothing we can do about it," came the deep voice of the one Ginny realized must be the one named Andor.

"You think to order me?" The angry voice asked, becoming even more louder and enraged.

"You're not my King yet boy, and I can and will knock some sense into you if I have to. We've more important things to worry about." The deep voice said simply, calmly.

Ginny could hear the sound of deep breathing for a moment, before a burst of laughter lightened the tone of the room, followed by a sigh.

"You're right Andor, my apologies to you. I don't know what came over me,"

"I do lad. You've had ten years to deal with your siblings deaths, but no time to properly mourn. Your reaction was justified, albeit a trifle melodramatic." Andor said comfortingly.

"I owe you an apology as well Aravas, I know you were only trying to protect me," came the now much calmer voice of the Prince.

"Well, it is my job you know," the voice she recognized as Aravas's grumbled.

"Getting to the point," Andor interrupted, "I need a better idea of what happened today, before we can begin to piece together what in Adaron's name is going on. First of all, what was your company doing so far from your assigned position with the army currently posted at Calendra?"

"We were on patrol near the border when we encountered a family of farmers who'd been driven from their home. They said that an Eltan slave caravan had passed through, and they'd been forced to flee. Since we all know any slaves the Eltan's catch go straight into the Darklands and never come back, I figured stopping them would be a good idea," the Prince replied simply.

Ginny tried to sneak a quick glace at them, but when she opened her eyes briefly, all she could see was someone's back. Beyond, she could make out the still form of Harry resting on a bed near her.

"Continue,"

"Well, we didn't really have much choice did we? I refuse to let innocents die through inaction. We were in a position to do something about it, and if you think I regret my decision, you're mistaken. You can tell my father whatever you wish about me deviating from orders, or what not, but I'll not regret my actions. We did the right thing, we saved lives." came the answer.

There was a silent boss, before a soft grunt of acceptance. "Alright, I'll accept that, not that I have much choice. Aravas?"

"Judging from their tracks, the caravan had come up from the south, and was turning east. It had the usual number of Eltan guards, but there were also a handful of Nekmari with them, which was unusual. As soon as we came at them, the Eltan's formed up against us. While we were fighting them, I saw the Nekmari converge around one of the wagons, and a few disappeared inside, while the others stood guard. I wasn't sure at the time what they were doing, but from the looks of the lad over there, they were trying their best to make sure we didn't get them alive, or perhaps, alive, but unable to save. They fled the wagon as we approached, and advanced on us. Moments later, the wagon suddenly went up in flames. The whole thing burned down to ash in moments. It's a mystery as to how neither of them have a single burn, yet one I shall not question further."

The elf speaking paused for a moment, before continuing.

"Near the end of the fray, I spotted movement near the wagon and moved to investigate. That's when I encountered these two. You know the rest."

"How are they?" The deep voice asked, and this time, a new voice answered.

"She'll be fine. Mostly exhaustion, and residual echoes of bond-pain. She'll be up soon I expect," came a softer, female voice.

"And the lad?"

"You mean besides the Vveriss?" The woman, presumably a healer, asked.

"Aye, though that brings untold questions on its own, yet does much to affirm the fact that they did not want him to survive." The deep voice replied.

"Well, besides being a victim of one of their deadliest of poisons, the lad has numerous injuries. Several crossbow injuries, heavy bruising, several broken ribs, and the stab injury in the chest. We barely stopped him from bleeding to death. Of course, the Vveriss didn't help any of those either."

"How long will he be bedridden?" came the question.

"Hard to tell, depends on how quickly his body rids itself of the remaining traces of the Vveriss, but with the degenerative effects of the poison effecting him, it will be at least a month, possibly more, before he is fit to move. That is of course, assuming he ever wakes up. It is possible that sheer shock may have broken his mind."

"That bad?" Came the Prince's voice.

"If not worse," was the blunt response.

The Prince whistled low in disbelief, before speaking.

"Andor, I hate to appear uncaring, but I must see to my men," he said, before pausing. "There's little I can do for them now. I'll leave them in your care?"

"Yes," Andor answered. "I'll take them into my household, at least until such time as they're hale and well, and I've an idea what to do with them."

"Good," the Prince said, "I know you'll do what is best. I'll gather my men, and return to the front in the morning."

Ginny stayed silent, as she heard the sound of two pairs of footsteps leaving the room. Moments later, the quiet voice of the healer spoke again.

"My lord, there's something else," she began.

"Oh? Why did you not mention it before?" Came the curious response from the deep-voiced Andor.

"It's something I've kept as secret as possible, simply because it raises many questions, questions I do not think the Prince would be able to handle." She said, her voice hushed.

"What is it Allisya?"

"Come, there's little I can do but show you." Ginny heard them move away, and she peeked her eyes open again, to see them standing over Harry's bed. She almost sobbed as she saw the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around him.

"Look," the healer said, as she gently, with an ease that must have been magically assisted, rolled Harry over onto his side. Slowly, she peeled the bandages from his back, revealed two hideous scars, and Ginny knew she was looking at all that remained of Harry's wings. Strangely enough, they appeared to have long since healed over, and looked as though they were old wounds.

Andor sucked in a breath as he saw what was beneath the bandages, and the inevitable question graced his lips for the first time.

"Just who are you lad?"

* * *

Harry was lost. Lost amidst a hazy sea of dreams and memory. Every so often he vaguely felt a pull in a certain direction, but the feeling was faint, untraceable.

His mind drifted, reliving past experiences, past memories. Intermingled within them however, were strange things, memories that did not belong to him, information he by all rights should not have known. Knowledge and understanding that was foreign, yet slowly unravelled before his mind.

Every so often, one of those was something felt over his bond with Ginny, he saw...felt..experienced things through her eyes, though never fully in focus.

He saw her awakening, in a strange, foreign place, confused and worried. He tried to send comforting feelings, but something felt...disconnected. He wasn't sure they got through.

He heard/saw her meet with someone, someone he did not know. She introduced herself as...Ashaa? Where had she come up with that? He'd have to remember to ask her. He felt her thoughts flying through her head, as she figured out a story.

She was captured...couldn't remember her family? Where she lived? Trauma...yes...it made sense, in a way. Traumatic experience, loss of memory, would erase any chance for them prove wrong her story. Smart girl. He felt...proud.

He heard someone ask about him. He felt her thoughts quicken. Something of them knowing of their bond...but old wounds. She said...he was already prisoner when she was taken. That he helped her. Comforted her despite his pain. Bond formed while captive.

She said his name was...Furos. Furos? What kind of name was that? He tried to send a feeling of indignation through the bond, but felt slowly the connection weaken, and he drifted once more into his dreamworld.

Endless time passed, and he felt a pull once more. This time stronger, and this time his mind grabbed onto it before it could flit away.

He felt it...through the bond once more. Ginny was worried. He hadn't woken in...three weeks? She was panicked...she needed him!

'_Wake up,' _a faint voice within his mind whispered.

'**Why?' **came another, stronger reply.

'_Because we are needed,' _the faint voice replied, this time, somewhat stronger, more focussed. Harry's mind drifted, things slowly coming into focus, but there was still what felt like...a wall...preventing him from finding his way.

'**Needed? Needed by whom. We are free now, no longer responsible,' **was the answer, but now it was fainter.

'_Ginny needs us!' _came a mental yell, that brought his mind into almost full focus.

'_**Gin...-we must wake.' **_came the voice, and this time it sounded like the two had merged, becoming one single thought, that brought his mind into full clarity. Urging it to slam against the wall that prevented his waking.

'**_Wake up' _**the voice urged, and his mind struggled against the wall.

'**_Wake up!' _**It was stronger now, and his mind hurled itself against the wall, and it felt a crack.

'**_Awaken' _**and his mind struck again, and the crack widened.

'**_AWAKEN!' _**And the wall shattered, and he was free.

* * *

Ginny looked up, startled, as she felt the bond within her surge to life, and unlit torches around the dim room suddenly burned brightly. She watched as he slowly inhaled a deep breath, his eyelids flickering, and then slowly opening.

She smiled at him, and felt his love. They may have been in what for them was a different world entirely, lost amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

But at least they were together.

* * *

**AN: **As always, apologies for the delay. 


	7. New Beginnings

**AN: Read end of chappie for info on status of fic. (Though I doubt many will read that :P) Yes, I know its been a long time, and you probably thought this abandoned. Sorry!**

_Death is a moth that dances toward our inner flame._

_The brightest fire can singe its wings._

**Chapter 6: New Beginnings**

Lord Andor Dail, Grand Duke of Dalandrin, watched quietly from the shadows of a dark corner of the room. He was concerned. The girl had not strayed far from this room since arriving in Dalandrin over three weeks ago. It was not healthy. She was wasting away, hardly eating, getting no exercise. Yet on the other hand, he could not deny her the right to grieve. Her love had not yet awoken. The healer tending the lad had reassured him that the boy was improving, health wise. However, the boy, Furos, if the name the girl, Ashaa, had given was to believed, still made no sign of awakening. His name however, was suspect. She had paused momentarily when asked it. Her body language had shown her to be unsure. Why would she give a false name?

The room was dark, night having settled over the castle an hour past. Only one dim torch burned in the sconces around the room, casting a flickering light across the pair who were the focal point of his attention.

The girl...her situation was understandable. The Nekmari raided many villages in south, many of which housed families of elves alongside humans. Her story was valid. The story she had given for the boy however...was questionable.

Who was he, that Nekmari commanders had deemed fit to assign guards to the caravan he was transported in. Normally such slave caravans were not deemed important enough to be assigned Nekmarin guards. The Eltans, human allies of the Nekmari to the south, constantly raided neutral lands, and the lands of human allies of the elves, capturing any they could to give to their dark masters. The Nekmari usually paid little heed to such caravans, unless they stopped coming. Normally the only times Nekmari accompanied the caravans was when they were transporting important messages from one commander to another along the way. In such a case, a few Nekmari guards would accompany them, with orders to burn the messages if it looked like they were going to fall into enemy hands.

He leaned back against the stone wall, arms crossed across his chest, as he studied the pair through narrowed eyes. So many unanswered questions. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that the two were innocents. The use of Vveriss assured him of that. The Nekmari had wanted this boy dead, and they wanted him dead badly.

Which raised a further question. Vveriss was rarely used. It was too rare, too hard to produce. They used it only when they were trying to send a message. Targets whose deaths would hurt the morale and faith of the forces of light. It was a poison that was used to strike the hearts of soldiers and peoples of the light as much as the victim's body. Why for then, had they used it on the boy. Who was he, that he would warrant such a death?

Then too were the scars on his back. He recognized such scars. He'd seen it before, once. It raised many more questions about this young elf's identity.

He sighed softly, realizing that it would do little could to ponder on the identity of someone who may not even awaken. He opened his mouth, taking in a breath to speak out, to urge the girl once more to leave the room, to get some sleep and eat something- and stopped, the words frozen on his lips, as the young elf's eyes suddenly opened, and the torches around the room flared to life, burning bright and strong, filling the room with a warm light.

A lone eyebrow raised in curiosity, Andor gazed slowly around the room, studying the now burning torches, before looking back at the lad, who had eyes only for the girl, with appraising eyes. This was an interesting phenomenon. It could mean nothing, Andor told himself. Odds are it _was _nothing. A simple surge of random, undirected magic. On the other hand...

* * *

Harry woke slowly, looking around blearily. Ginny -'_Ashaa' _he thought fiercely- was gone. That was going to take some adjustments. He'd have to start calling her that mentally and thinking of himself as Furos just so they didn't make any mistakes.

Ashaa was gone, though he felt a brief mental caress that told him she was near enough to feel he'd awoken. He looked around and blinked in surprise to see the chair on the other side of him occupied, by an older elf, who was studying him calmly. He tried to sit up, but felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion flood him with the attempt, and lay back down, panting slightly.

"Don't try to sit up lad," the elf said. "Your life's no longer on the edge, but the effects of the poison are still there. You'll be as weak as a newborn kitten for some time. Don't strain yourself now, or you'll set back your recovery even more."

Furos closed his eyes briefly, cursing silently his own weakness, before looking over at the elf.

"Who are you?" He asked quietly, the words themselves taking a toll on his energy.

"My name is Andor Dail," answered the elf, "this is my home you're currently in."

There was a pause, then Andor spoke again.

"I know you're tired lad," Andor began, "but there's a few things I'd like to ask you, if I may."

Furos nodded slowly, already beginning to feel tired, just as Andor had said.

"So, first and foremost...do you know how long you were a prisoner for?"

Furos thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head negatively. Which, technically, was true, so he didn't have to feel like he was lying.

"Alright," Andor said, then nodding his head briefly. "You're turn."

Andor smiled briefly at the look of question the young elf's face.

"Well, it's hardly fair if I ask all the questions and you don't get to ask any. You have questions, no doubt, so we shall take turns to share information."

"Alright," Furos said after a brief pause, "where are we?"

"Dalandrin," Andor answered promptly, before going into a bit more detail. "My fortress, from which most military planning and staging is done for the North."

"Why is all that done here?" Furos asked, already beginning to feel more and more exhausted as the strain of remaining cognisant wore on his weakened body.

"Ah-ah-ah. Not your turn yet lad," Andor said, shaking his head. "My turn. If you could save a hundred innocent lives by sacrificing the life of one, would you do it?"

"No," Furos responded almost instantly. "I'd find a way to do it without sacrificing anyone."

Andor smiled then, and stood up.

"Good answer lad. Good answer. We'll talk more, you and I. For now, get some rest."

With that, Andor turned and left the room.

* * *

Ginny -Ashaa- she thought to herself fiercely, wandered the courtyard of the keep idly. Andor had told her she was free to roam, but there was only so much exploration that could be interesting. Now she wanted something to -do-.

The sounds of wood cracking against wood drew her attention to a long building to her right, with wide doors on one end. Approaching, she found it to be a training ground. A thin layer of straw littered the wooden floor, and benches along the sides allowed the score or more of young elves, about her age at a guess, to get a clear view of the combat going on in the centre.

Two elves were going at it, swinging wildly with wooden swords, trying to find an opening in the others defences. An older, barrel-chested elf with several large scars visible on his bare chest was watching critically, every so often breaking the two apart to comment on one or the others mistakes.

She approached quietly, trying to be unobtrusive, watching as the two elves fought. Both seemed equally skilled with the long wooden blades, and neither was really gaining any ground on the other. Ashaa found herself fascinated, watching as the instructor corrected footings, and angles of various attacks and stances.

"Stop!" The instructor said abruptly, and the two trainees instantly lowered their weapons, looking at their trainer expectantly. "Well done, both of you. Take a seat."

The two smiled faintly at the praise, passing their practice blades hilt first to their trainer, and taking a seat in an open space available on one of the benches. As they sat, several other elves patted them on the back and muttered words of congratulations. Evidently, from the looks of slight shock on some of the other faces, such positive praise from their trainer was rare indeed.

"You, girl!" Ashaa jumped in surprise and paled a bit to see the instructor staring directly at her, having noticed her watching during the duel. "What's your name?"

"Ashaa, sir," She replied nervously, stepping forward a bit, feeling more then a tad shy, having the eyes of all the trainees now squarely on her.

"Well, don't just stand there girl, come here," Ashaa nervously strode forward, stepping lightly across the straw covered ground.

"I'm Weapons Master Haras, and I believe you are the young lady brought in by the prince a short while ago, correct?" He asked, and Ashaa nodded silently.

"Very well then," Haras stated, "let's see what you can do hmm?"

She caught the wooden sword he tossed to her awkwardly, nervous grip tightening on the hilt. It was heavier then she was really comfortable with, and longer. It was clearly weighted to be the same weight as a real blade. Harry- no, Furos, she reminded herself mentally, had been giving her instruction, but having just seen the other two fight, she knew she was nowhere near that level.

The weapons master seemed to notice the awkwardness of her stance and grip, and mentioned it.

"Do you have any training with one of those?" He asked bluntly.

She swallowed nervously, shaking her head. "Very little sir," she felt like a tiny, insignificant child under his examining gaze.

"What do you have training with then?"

"Umm...bow a little bit, but daggers are the only thing I'd say I'm decent with, both melee and throwing," She answered truthfully.

He nodded, eyeing her up and down. "Aye, with your frame, you'd be good with them I'd imagine. Still, bows aren't all that useful in close quarters, and against a foe of greater strength and reach, daggers won't do you much good."

She nodded silently. Furos had said something similar at one point.

"However, we shall see what you can do," He began. "I wish to test your skill. Do whatever you can to do your best." He gestured briefly, and a group of trainees went to the weapons racks around the room and picked up a whole bunch of wooden practice swords, wooden axes, and other practice weapons, scattering them around the room, before returning to their seats.

"Sword up lass," Haras said calmly, raising his own, as she lifted hers up, nervously holding it with two hands.

"Now, defend yourself!" He yelled, and promptly attacked.

Ashaa immediately felt a shock jolt through her arms as the force of her trainer's first blow threw her to the ground, the practice sword getting torn rather painfully from her hands and falling to the ground nearby. She rolled away, getting to her feet, eyeing where the sword lay, halfway between her and the weapons master.

She dove for it, getting it into her hands but barely managed to get it up in time to block the swing of her opponents blade, once more sending hers skittering across the floor. She scrambled after it, but Haras's heavy boot kicked it away from her hand before she could close her fingers upon the grip.

She looked up to see him backing away, frowning. She stood up nervously, unsure of what to do.

"What mistake did you make?" He asked shortly.

"Um...I don't know sir," she answered meekly.

His eyes narrowed before turning to the trainees that were watching. "Well? Any of you know? What did she do wrong?"

There was a brief muttering from the benches before one elf stood up to answer.

"She chased the sword sir," the elf said.

"Explain yourself Eldryn," the instructor said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well sir, she kept trying to get the same sword back, both times you disarmed her," He said, and his voice gained in confidence at the sight of the trainer's nod. "The first time, when it was between you and her, it was still the closest weapon available, but there was little chance of getting it set to defend before you could have struck, as happened. The second time, the short sword over there," and here he pointed, at a shorter, lighter practice sword that lay near where hers had fallen. 'was closer to her, she should have gone for it instead."

The trainer nodded, pleased. "Good, correct," he said, turning back to Ashaa. "Girl, the most important rule is this. Don't get attached to your weapon. Especially if it's a weapon your not comfortable with. What should she have done?" He asked, once more turning to the trainees. Clearly, this was one of the methods to train them as well as her. Questioning them would see if they were learning too.

The same elf as before, Eldryn, answered. "Well, that sword is clearly too large and too heavy for her to fight with properly. If I were her, I would have probably thrown it at you, and dove backwards. There is a number of smaller, lighter swords in that area she would have been more suited to."

"Why throw the sword?" Haras asked, in a tone that clearly stated that the young elf had better have a good answer.

"Time, sir," came the reply, "even if you swatted it aside without flinching, that's still a second or two that gets me further from you, and closer to a weapon I _can_ use."

Haras nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good," he said, before turning back to Ashaa. "Well girl, with that all in mind, lets try that again shall we? Keep in mind, any weapon is better then no weapon. Even if you just get it up in time to block a blow and get it knocked away, better to block the blow then not, hmm?"

Ashaa nodded, and reached down, picking up a smaller practice sword this time. She set herself, and nodded.

This time, she managed to dodge to the side of the first blow, and make an attack, stabbing her blade towards the instructor's stomach. However, Haras was apparently quite agile despite his large size and spun aside, bringing his own sword up hard against hers, the force of the attack disarming her once more.

She immediately forgot about that sword, and keeping in mind what had been said, dove to the side, getting her hands on a pair of short, but wide swords. She quickly rolled to her knees, bringing them up, blades crossed, in time to catch the downward swing of the weapons masters blade. She knew she didn't have the strength to keep his sword held like that for long, and sure enough, he pressed harder, and she felt herself losing her grip on the swords. Giving up on them, she rolled aside. She lost her swords in the manoeuver, but at least got out of range of his.

Her hand closed over the nearest weapon to her, a mace, which she held up nervously. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold it against a swing from his sword, he was so much stronger he could knock just about any one handed weapon from her hands without much effort. What she needed was something she could get two hands on, and properly brace to receive an attack.

Her eyes scanned the weapons littering the ground, as she slowly backed away from him, trying to keep as much distance between them as she could. There was a wooden axe on the ground to her right, one with a long handle she could hold with both hands, but she doubted her ability to use the weapon. The balance of it would be thrown off by the axe head, and she'd probably just fail miserably with it.

She regretted her momentary distraction almost instantly, as she looked back to see Haras charging at her, blade coming up quickly. She barely managed to get the shaft of the mace between herself and the wooden sword, but was still thrown back by the force of the blow. She landed hard on her back, and she rolled to the side, her hand brushing against wood that indicated another practice weapon.

Not even caring what it was, she gripped it tightly as she used the momentum of the roll to carry her to a low crouch. The weapon, which turned out to be a long, plain looking staff, came up with her, and she quickly got both hands on it, spreading them out a bit, and braced her feet to receive the follow up attack that Haras had already begun launching.

The wooden blade crashed down into the centre of the staff, but the way her hands were holding the staff the force of the blow was distributed evenly along its length, and she managed to keep her feet, only being pushed back about half a step.

Immediately, seeing an opening, she twisted, swinging one end of the staff upwards, forcing Haras to dodge backwards, and she felt a tiny thrill at having made _him_ retreat, even a little.

She followed, feinting towards his legs with the bottom of the staff, before snapping it upwards, and only quick reflexes on his part kept him from getting hit hard in the side. He barely got his own sword up, blocking the blow.

Now however, his extra strength came into play, and he used the sword to shove the staff aside, then pushed forward, knocking her over onto her back. She fell, hard, and the straw on the ground did little to cushion her back when it hit. She had no doubt she'd have a bruise or two on her back the next day.

The weapon master stood over her, sword in hand, but with a slightly pleased look on his face. He nodded at her, before reaching down and grabbing her hand, pulling her to her feet. He then picked up the staff she'd used, and eyed it briefly before looking back at her.

"You ever use one of these before?" He asked gruffly.

She shook her head. "No sir," she answered.

He nodded, as though confirming a thought. "Did it feel comfortable to wield?"

She thought back to the way her hands had instinctively gone to grip the stave, and how it had just felt right when set her feet to receive his first blow. She nodded.

"Alright then," he said, tossing the stave back to her. "You did well with that, especially for your first time. That's what we'll train you up on."

She nodded, and as the adrenalin left her, she suddenly felt quite tired, and more then a little sore, as her body caught up with her.

"Take a rest lass," Haras said softly, looking at her with a look that showed just a hint of how impressed he had been with her first fight. She was fast, agile, and a natural with a staff, he could tell that right off. "Sit out the rest of today's lessons, but watch them. Stay behind after the rest all leave, and we'll figure out a training schedule for you. You're more then a bit behind the rest overall, but I have some time free in the evenings that I could spare to work with you, if you're willing to dedicate the time and effort towards learning."

Eyes wide, she nodded breathlessly, then sat back on one of the benches as he turned away, calling for another pair of trainees to take their place in the centre.

* * *

**AN: Not sure what to say here really. I'd sort of abandoned the fic as you can all tell by it being over a year since I posted. I'd just...lost my will to write. And yet even then, I still was thinking about the plots and battles and events I had/have planned for later in this fic. I spent a while considering if I wanted to convert this from fanfiction into my own world, and make it into its own, not-harry-potter-based set of stories. I already sort of have maps for a fantasy world and ways to do it thought up. The only problem being the will to write it. I haven't really decided yet. Chosen could easy be written into 1 or probably 2 full paperbacks, if I decided to. Yes, I have just that many ideas. A whole world of battles and plans set up for it that I was gonna have to trim down. The problem would be setting up Return as its own story, breaking it from HP and having to write all the background stuff that would be necessary. Anyway, for now, I'll write this, while I plan that. If I do decide to pursue the standalone fiction thing, I'll at the very least announce this fic officially abandoned.**


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